Entwined Love
by grumkinsnark
Summary: Hermione learns a secret from Harry and decides to go back in time and fix it, but she didn't expect to fall in love with the person that caused it. In process of being edited.
1. Prologue

_Note: This story is in progress of being edited. It was written years ago, and as I read through it again, I myself am having difficulty due to its awfulness. To everyone who read it in its initial form, bravo for managing through it. For those who gave up on it, bravo for recognizing bad writing. I hope to fix the plot as well as the awkward dialogue and sentence structure, though it still may be undesirable. For that I apologize, and hope you don't consider this story a barometer of my recent work. I promise my writing is no longer so terrible._

* * *

**Entwined Love**

**Prologue**

* * *

_I've got to do something about this, _Hermione thought as she was doing her Charms essay.

She looked over at Harry who was sitting near the fireplace, just staring into the flames, firelight dancing in his apple-colored eyes. He'd looked so sad and angry and lonely these past few weeks, out of it for most of them. Both Hermione and Ron had noticed it, but decided it had been best to just leave him alone to figure out what was wrong. They thought they had an idea as to what it was all about, but were almost afraid to ask him. It had gone on too long, however, and patience had never exactly been Hermione's strong suit. She slowly set down her quill and walked over to Harry, who neglected to meet her eyes.

"Harry?" she asked tentatively. He slightly inclined his head toward her.

"Yeah?" he answered dully.

When she didn't say anything, he finally looked up, and was met with a look of concern. He sighed. He thought he knew what this was about. Though they could lie to professors and other students just fine, his two best friends never could lie to him. He'd noticed their discomfort around him the past while, but had simply pretended not to. Truth was, they was exactly right in her thinking. He was almost worried himself, but was too caught up with what was all going on in his mind. Staring into space like the empty air held solutions was what he resigned himself to; it was better than being self-destructive at any rate.

Hermione stared down at her hands. "Harry, I'm worried about you," she said finally.

Harry became transfixed with the table. "I know."

"You do?" she asked, admittedly surprised. She supposed she shouldn't have been, considering Harry hadn't seemed quite all there for some time, but then he always was one to keep people on their guard.

In spite of everything, Harry managed a small smile. "Yes. Honestly, I don't know why it's affecting me so much. It's been sixteen years; you' think I'd have gotten over it by now." His voice was harsh and unforgiving and self-deprecating, and Hermione looked at him sadly.

"I wish I knew what to say," Hermione replied. "I don't know what you're going through, but I can empathize. Don't shut yourself off, Harry. I—_both_ Ron and I—are here for you."

Harry nodded sheepishly. "Thanks, Hermione. You're a really good friend, you know that?"

Hermione smiled warmly. At this point in their friendship, the thank-you was simply a formality; after all they'd been through, it seemed trite. "So, tell me: what's ailing you?" she asked. "I hate to presume."

"It's just this whole Recommendations Essay that McGonagall asked us to write," says Harry despondently. He runs his fingers over his quill absently, then scrunches up his face when he sees the ink had bled through the feathers and dyed his skin. He abandons his efforts and continued, "The one about our heritage and our families and everything. The one that's supposed to help us get jobs in the future and all that."

"I'm aware," laughs Hermione. Who had, predictably, finished it the evening it was assigned. "I didn't find much purpose in it, personally—honestly, what does it have to do with Transfiguration?—but McGonagall always has a reason for what she assigns."

Harry stared at her incredulously, unable to find words. Save for Trelawney, Hermione had never questioned a teacher's methods. Even Snape's she'd found ways to justify. (Mostly.)

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Companies will look for talent, not in your family history, Harry. Trust me. Unless you want to apply for a job at the Malfoys' Manor, anyone would fall over themselves to hire you."

Harry smiled. "When I was writing it," he ponders aloud, smile dissolving into a troubled sort of grimace, "I realized that I had no idea about what has happened in my past and where my parents came from. The Order could probably tell me some things, but Sirius was…" Harry paused, his godfather's death still rending his heart. "It just wouldn't be the same," he furthered, past the sudden lump in his throat.

"It's all right, Harry," said Hermione supportively. "You'll find another angle."

"You're right," Harry sighed. "I just—I hate that all this has happened. I don't hate easily, Hermione, but I _hate_this. I hate that I'm such a magnet for destruction and evil. Maybe I'm just cursed." With a coarse laugh, he says only half-jokingly, "Maybe I've tempted fate too many times…"

Hermione stared at Harry like he really had gone off the deep end. "_Harry_," she says, clasping his shoulder with an impressive amount of strength.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"You can't be mad at yourself for this!" Hermione intones, ignoring the sharp look she senses from Madam Pince at her volume. I am so surprised and proud of you that you haven't let anything bother you about it! Do you realize how strong you are? Wizards thrice your age wouldn't be able to deal with half the things you do. You're the most resilient person I know. You've done nothing wrong. I don't know why bad things keep happening to you, but _they're not your fault_."

Harry smiled at her gratefully. Despite her words, he still felt he _had_ to have done something to anger some higher power, but he appreciated her sentiments just the same. "I just wish that I could have my parents here. Like yours and Ron's. I didn't even know them, not really, but I miss them. I wish I could've…" He didn't finish his sentence, but Hermione could fill in the rest.

The firelight flickered on Harry's eyes more brightly than usual, emphasizing Harry's despondent expression. "Harry, it's not your fault," she said again It's Voldemort's. Don't ever go blaming yourself for that. Don't you dare."

Harry looked taken aback at her pervasiveness. "I know," he said. And he did, he knew it was Voldemort's doing, all of it, but his heart remained heavy.

Hermione didn't look satisfied, but could see quite plainly she could say nothing further that would make a difference. Reluctantly, she says, "All right. Well, just—" She pauses for a moment, unsure of how to continue. "Just hang in there. I'm here if you need me, know that."

She gave him swift kiss on the cheek before making her way out of the library to her dorms. She still hadn't finished her Charms essay, and she knew better than anyone apart from Ron that at times like these, it was best to just leave Harry be. Of course, she never has been one to _completely _stay out of things, especially when it concerns dear friends of hers. The ideas swirling in her head honestly frighten her a bit, but she swore long ago she would do anything for Harry, and for Ron; the fact that she knew full well they'd do the same for her only bolsters her resolve. She knew there was no way Harry would approve of this, that he would tell her it was too dangerous, but she didn't have a choice. It was _Harry_. She had to.


	2. Chapter One

**Entwined Love**

**Chapter One**

* * *

Hogwarts' grand library was Hermione's second home, so seeing her there wouldn't have made anyone give her a second glance. Several large tomes that looked impossibly heavy were spread out on the table at which she was sitting, some of them lying open, some the base of a tower of novels that partially obscured Hermione's form. The sight was far from uncommon, though, so no one bothered to get a closer look at the titles of these particular books, or what information they held. More than one student had made the grave mistake of interrupting her while she was engrossed in books.

That said, if they _had_ looked closer, they would have seen the uncharacteristically frustrated expression on Hermione's face. She'd been stressed before, certainly, but her face now looked especially bedraggled.

All she was looking for was one measly potion, she bemoaned to herself. _So why can't I find it?_

"Fine," Hermione said aloud, fed up and tired. She glanced around the library then, a little startled to see that she was the only one there. Looking at the clock, she understood why. "Well," she sighed, "I guess an ordinary potion will have to do."

She picked up the countless books, many of whose titles had completely worn off, some of whose covers were held together by what could only be a spell, all of which had to do with what was arguably the most debated and most complicated of magic: time travel. Hermione had, of course, been previously knowledgeable about it, but only insofar as that knowledge would be sufficient enough for House Points; that is, she didn't know too many specifics.

Too tired to manually put all the books back, she muttered a spell and all but the one she'd finally decided on flew back to their respective places, tucking themselves in neatly as they budged aside their neighbors.

That done, Hermione turned to the lone book left on the table. Absent of a title, instead embossed with only an hourglass and decades of dust, it was one she'd almost missed during her perusal of the shelves, but which ended up being the most informative. Its swirling text and verbose prose proved difficult to read even for her, but its author was clearly a master of the subject.

Knowing there was no way she could brew a potion and say the spell without getting noticed, she quickly gathered her belongings and, with a grunt, picked up the book and scurried out of the library. She found an empty classroom fairly quickly, and she set her bag and the book down gently, locking the door behind her and casting a silencing spell—just in case.

She opened the book to the designated page, exposing its contents to her invitingly. Her eyes snapped straight to the spell she'd already spent a good hour studying, the words a bit faded but still legible. Truthfully, she doubted she'd even need the book; the spell was emblazoned in her mind clear as day.

With subtly shaking fingers, she grabbed an empty vial from her stocked bag along with various Potions ingredients she had snitched from class. Fortunately for her, Seamus had set his hair ablaze—again—giving her ample time to grab the ingredients she anticipated she'd need. She had excess, of course, since she wasn't sure which ones would be needed, but she fully realizes she'd lucked out that this complicated spell hadn't required something like a unicorn heart. She guessed even Snape wouldn't have as rare an item in his stores.

"Let's see…" she muttered, running her finger down the text. "Powdered hair of roomstang, one drop of dragon blood, one-half teaspoon crushed scarab shell…" She continued to read the list, dropping ingredients into her cauldron and stirring every so often as the book delineated.

Over an hour later she had almost finished the concoction, brushing her hair impatiently out of her face. She looked at the last ingredient in her hand and with a moment of wariness, dropped it in. Her cauldron emitted a cloud of black smoke and a bang so loud she thought it might wake the entire castle, in spite of her spell to mute any noise. She coughed a couple times, waving her hand to disperse the smoke. Carefully drawing up some of the liquid into a dropper, she filled up the vial to the brim. For good measure, but also for her own reassurance, she once more read the spell in the ancient book.

"Well, Hermione, here goes," she whispered as she brought the bottle to her lips and swallowed it. She pointed her well-used wand at herself and uttered the spell, knowing there was no turning back.

Immediately the room spun mindlessly fast though Hermione was standing still. Colors and sounds shrieked around her, and she shut her eyes to stop the dizziness. She needed to concentrate on the time she wanted, the place she wanted. She knew the risks. One wrong thought or mistake in the potion and you could find yourself in limbo—or worse. When what seemed like an eternity had passed, during which Hermione wondered in a panic if she _had_ messed something up and would be stuck in this spinning vortex forever, she felt herself being thrust forward with brutal force. She did not fall, but her every bone felt bruised and abused. Subconsciously, she looked behind her, for some reason expecting to see some sort of portal, but there was nothing. Only gleaming wood paneling and, as she took in the rest of her surroundings, the most beautiful room she could imagine.


	3. Chapter Two

**Entwined Love**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Hermione looked around again, still unable to believe her eyes. The room was softly illuminated by a number of candles floating along the walls, their flickering flames making shadows dance on the deep red backdrop. The ceiling and floor were dually ornate, all mahogany and gold. It reminded her a bit of the Gryffindor common room, actually, though devoid of anyone but herself. She supposed it was comfortable, but there was no warmth from a fire nor squashy armchairs nor vast windows showcasing the Hogwarts grounds.

She looked down at herself, oddly expecting to look different—how, she didn't really know—but there was no visible change she could see. Same shoes, same uniform, same black robes.

Glancing around the room to take in more of her surroundings, she noticed a large, oval mirror half-hidden by cobwebs. "_Diffindo_," she murmured, her spell effectively vanishing the spiders' work.

Again she expected to see something altered, but again there was nothing. Her hair was perhaps a bit frizzier from the harrowing travel, but otherwise, all was the same. She sighed, half-thinking she could perform the same spell she had for the Yule Ball to straighten her hair out, but dismissed it. She wasn't here to look nice; she was here to help Harry.

She picked up her book bag that was filled to the seams with whatever materials she could fit into it—better safe than sorry, she always said—including a few potion ingredients she hadn't used. Figuring she wouldn't need them here, at least not for the immediacy, she placed them on a table beside her.

Somehow she knew where she was, that the potion ingredients would be in the same spot if she returned. The room looked nothing like the versions she'd seen in times past, but the air of mystique was the same. As before, she could almost feel the hundreds, thousands even, of other appearances this room had depending on the person. Although it wouldn't happen for many years to come, she could envision the room substantially emptier, with chests and mirrors and all other manners of magical objects scattered about; filled with students intent on usurping Professor Umbridge; transparent Patronuses darting about, harmless for the moment but fierce in front of a Dementor.

The Room of Requirement.

* * *

Harry finally stood up from the now imprinted sofa as the previously raging fire dimmed down to glowing embers. He had been vaguely aware of the people passing to and from their destinations, some bidding him hello, others feeling it best to leave him alone. Even his best friend, Ron, had been one of the smart to let him wallow in his sadness and desperation. Still, in his time to think, there were times he wished there were someone there to talk to him, or just listen to his problems.

_Like Hermione_, Harry thought, caught in between doldrums and realization that, really, he never had given her enough credit. People seemed to only view her as brainy, and not as someone who would tell you all the right things to make you feel better.

He frowned then, suddenly aware that he hadn't seen her since the library. It's not like the three of them exactly kept tabs on where one another was every hour of every day, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't just meandering around the castle. In his mind, he replayed their earlier conversation, noticing this time that her face had been more analyzing and calculating than normal. What this meant he didn't know, but she _had_ seemed a bit _too_ determined to help him get over his moodiness.

He hated to jump to conclusions—for that matter, he didn't even have a conclusion, just a feeling, which was worth jack squat—but he had a decent track record in the hunches department.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself. He hardly dared to imagine what she could have gotten herself into on his behalf. The rational part of his mind (what was left of it anyhow) told him he was more than overreacting, but the rest of him decided there wasn't any downside to being concerned.

"Ron!" he yelled suddenly, easing himself up from the chair. Hermione was his best friend, too, after all; even if nothing had happened to Hermione, he wouldn't want to be left unawares. No matter how little a feeling it was that Harry had, he would want to know.

A moment passed and then Ron came ambling down the stairs, yawning. "Yeah?" he asked, coming to a stop opposite Harry. He too frowned when he noticed the ailed look on Harry's face. "What's going on?"

Harry hesitated for just a second, wondering if perhaps he should have decided to deal with this on his own. It was _him_, in any event, that would have caused her to go and do something drastic, not Ron.

That thought died immediately though, and he said quietly, "It—It's Hermione."

Ron stared at him blankly; Harry hated that expression. It was so unpredictable. Whether red would flush up his face in anger and he would start yelling, or whether it would blanch and he'd sit down with his head in his hands. In this particular scenario, either would be expected.

Harry didn't have to wait long, however, to find out which one. "_What about Hermione_?" Ron asked with a bite to his words.

"It's probably nothing," Harry said placatingly. Seeing Ron was having none of that, he continued with a sigh, "She's—She's gone. I think. I haven't searched the castle or anything, but I have a bad feeling." Ron continued to stare at him, eyes narrowing. "We were in the library a while ago, and I was having trouble with that Transfiguration essay, and she was trying to make me feel better about it. She just—I don't know, now I think back on it she looked like she might be wanting to do something drastic."

"Drastic like what?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Dunno," replied Harry, sitting back down in the armchair distractedly. Ron mirrored his actions, his muscles tense.

"You don't know," repeated Ron, staring at his best friend. "What do you mean you don't know? You can't just drop something like that, say you think she's—she's _disappeared_, and then say you _don't know_!"

Harry slightly nodded his head—Ron had a point. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have mentioned it in the first place. I'm sure it's nothing. She's probably just practicing in an empty classroom or something."

"At eleven at night?"

Harry's eyebrows rose and he looked at the clock on the wall which read quarter-past. He hadn't realized it'd gotten so late. "Er…maybe?"

"Well we need to find her then, don't we!" Ron exclaimed. Harry winced at the volume; he hoped the entire dormitory didn't awaken.

"Where do you suppose we start, Ron?" Harry asked at a loss. "Never mind that she might just be fine, how do you figure we should go about looking for her?"

"You tell me," Ron snaps. "You're the one who obviously said something to her to make her want to go off on some pity mission!"

Harry clenched his jaw. "That's not fair," he said. "I care about her just as much as you do. I want to find her just as much as you do."

A slight bloom of pink appeared in Ron's cheeks, and for a split second Harry wondered if perhaps his statement was wrong, if perhaps Ron cared about her a bit more than he did. Or, at least, in a different capacity.

"We could check the library I guess," proposed Harry. "Hope that maybe she left a book there that could help us."

Ron merely shrugged in terse agreement.

"I'll get the cloak."


	4. Chapter Three

**Entwined Love**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Hermione hesitantly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, which was thankfully deserted. The hallway looked almost exactly like what she remembered, save for the lights lining the walls whose holders were significantly less tarnished than in the present.

Taking a left, she headed towards what she knew would open up into a mass of sometimes-moving staircases and the bustling of students late for classes. As the hallway did just that, she was a little disappointed to see that it was just as deserted. There were faint mutterings from paintings nearby, and high above her, two staircases shifted positions, but other than that it was eerily quiet.

Choosing the first set of stairs she came to, she slowly walked down the steps, marveling at how little Hogwarts had changed through the years. Harry had, of course, seen its past self during his journey into Tom Riddle's diary, but the décor and scenery hadn't exactly been what was important about the visit.

She only got to the first landing before the desertion becomes inadequate.

"Hey!" a voice shouted from her right.

She started and then turned towards it, seeing now that it belonged to a man a good deal taller than her, with strikingly handsome features and perfectly coiffed hair; his face was pale, his fingers long and, she noticed, clenching around a wand. Upon closer inspection she noted that his robes were just a tad less black and a tad too short, like they were second-hand.

"Who are you?" he asked. "I don't recognize you."

"I—er…" Hermione stumbled, realizing then that—unlike every other moment of her life—she hadn't _quite_ planned this all through.

His eyes, a dark hazel-green, bored into hers, and it rather unnerved her. His gaze was sharp, she supposed not really cruelly so, but there was a coldness in them as well that set her nerves on edge. It was hard to dwell on that, though, given his other features. Long lashes outlining his eyes accompanied by his angular cheekbones and firm build she imagined made more than one person of the female persuasion swoon. Even she had to admit he wasn't lacking in the looks department, but still, she couldn't shake the cold stare.

"Are you listening?" he snapped, fingers gripping his wand harder.

_I can't imagine why_, Hermione mused to herself. _What does he expect, I'm going to shout a curse at him?_ She wondered idly if maybe there'd been experiences in his past that caused him to be overly cautious, and supposed she couldn't necessarily blame him if that were the case.

"Oh. Yes," she answered quietly. "My name is—Hermione Granger." She hesitated briefly on her name, questioning whether or not she should give her real one, but considering she was decades away from even being born, she guessed it was safe enough. The man stared at her some more, eyes narrowing as if trying to judge the validity of her words. Crossly, Hermione continued, "May I inquire as to yours?"

She didn't know if he decided she was telling the truth or if she somehow caught him off-guard (or if he simply decided it wasn't worth his time), he paused, and then replied, "Tom Riddle."

Hermione blinked. An icy wave splashed in her very bones, as if a ghost had floated through her. As she searched his face, she acknowledged she should have noticed it before. She'd seen pictures here and there of him after all, and the tales of him being dually fair-featured and not very rich were plain to see now.

She wasn't quite sure what to do with the information. Here she was, standing three feet away from Lord Voldemort. _Well_, she reluctantly amended, _the _future_ Lord Voldemort._ Since Riddle looked like the kind of person who hardly aged, she couldn't tell precisely what year this was, nor how far into the Dark Arts he'd gotten. She hoped not Myrtle-killing far.

As if studying a particularly strange insect, Riddle asked, "Are you…all right?" The words probably tasted like vinegar coming out of his mouth, she presumed, but he didn't show discomfort. He had, of course, had substantial practice in fooling others. "You're white as a sheet."

Hermione wildly considered whipping out her wand right then and there and yelling "_Avada Kedavra_!" and ending it all, but thought better of it. She wasn't a murderer, no matter how much he deserved it, and, again, she wasn't sure exactly _how_ evil he was at this point. She _had_ been sent here for a reason; perhaps this was it. To reverse Riddle's path of darkness. Inwardly, she scrunched up her face at the dismal prospect, but kept her face blank.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied. "Just—feeling a little ill is all." It wasn't a lie, really. She _did_ feel ill at the sight of him. She forced a smile though, one she hoped was convincing.

"Well, if you're sure," said Riddle. Peering at her robes with the red and gold crest emblazoned on the breast, he added, "I see you're in Gryffindor." This time he didn't even try to hide the hatred. She ground her teeth together, thoroughly displeased, but forced herself to not act on it.

_Take the high road_, she recited to herself. _Take the high road, take the high road, take the high road…_

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Hermione retorted. "Certainly wouldn't want to be in Slytherin." She glanced meaningfully at his silver and green crest, before her eyes moved back up to his.

Riddle smiled, but it was devoid of any sort of warmth. "What would Hogwarts be without some good, old-fashioned rivalries?"

Hermione refused to dignify that with a response. She knew full well—as did he—that rivalries, of all things, were not what made Hogwarts great. Besides, though she had as much dislike towards Slytherin as the next Gryffindor, she preferred to use her smarts against them and not devolve into petty insults. Harry was able to take his frustration out during Quidditch matches, and Ron was more or less content fuming not-so-silently, and she had her own methods. Certainly intellect was what she prided herself on, and nothing felt more pleasurable than outwitting Draco Malfoy or Pansy Parkinson.

Riddle didn't seem to expect a response from her anyway, seemingly just fine standing there towering over her. She abruptly wished she were in a classroom where she could outsmart him. She could feasibly win a duel against him as well, but facing off against him in a hallway, little more than a staring contest, was grating.

Without warning, Riddle stowed his wand then grabbed her wrist tightly, his short nails digging into her skin. "Get off of me!" Hermione exclaimed, trying to relinquish his hold on her. It was like a vise, though, and wouldn't budge. "For Merlin's sake, where are you taking me?"

Tom slowed his absurdly fast walk to turn and look at her. He had a faint look of amusement on his face, although it was soon tinged with surprise at the venom displayed on Hermione's expression.

"I will hex you until you're nothing more than pieces that not even the best wizard could put back together," Hermione snarled. "So help me I will."

He must have seen something there that told him she was far from kidding, and after a couple seconds' deliberation, dropped her wrist. Though it ached, she would not give him the satisfaction of rubbing it to reduce the pain.

"Where, pray tell, were you trying to drag me?" she inquired, curious despite herself.

"To Dumbledore," replied Riddle. Hermione didn't miss the note of unhappiness as he mentioned the name. She knew there was a grudging respect there, respect at his abilities, but she also knew he didn't much like the man. Not that she could hold it against Dumbledore, of course; Dumbledore didn't know for sure whether Riddle would become all-evil, but signs had showed, and he was right to be skeptical and watchful.

"Why?"

"You'll see," was all he offered. He turned back around then and took off at as fast a pace as before.

She fully intended to not follow him, but knew it would only be out of spite. She wouldn't mind seeing Dumbledore, actually. He always did have the perfect things to say in reassurance and guidance. Admittedly this plan of hers had been fairly hare-brained, and she could use his wisdom.

With a sigh, Hermione jogged after Riddle, glaring daggers at him the whole way.


	5. Chapter Four

_Note: As a result of my ignorance when I originally wrote this story, there is a certain degree of suspension of disbelief (as pertains to this chapter, dates of Hogwarts attendance) that must be had when reading this. I'm sure you have figured that out by now, but just a reminder._

* * *

**Entwined Love**

**Chapter Four**

* * *

After a few moments, Riddle stops again, as if just remembering he has more important things to do. Hermione doesn't bother to suppress her irritated sigh. _Now what?_

"I trust you can find the office, Miss…Granger, was it?" he drawls, both of them knowing full well he hadn't forgotten her name. "Down the hall, obnoxious office to the left. I'm fairly certain you can't miss it. He should be out of Transfiguration by now." He gives her a slow, almost puzzled, once-over. "I'll be seeing you."

Hermione thinks the dangerous undertone was entirely unnecessary, but doesn't comment on it. If he wants masculine validation, fine. It's no concern of hers. "Thought you were going to escort me," she needles calmly. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Never you mind," he snaps. With that, he leaves with a swish of his robes, Hermione scrutinizing his movements. He'd be a challenge.

She turns back around to head towards Dumbledore's office—she'd been caught off-guard for a minute when Tom said "Transfiguration," Dumbledore of course not being the headmaster just yet—when she's halted once more by a clear and distinct voice. Hermione would be irked at yet another interruption if she didn't recognize it.

"Excuse me. Are you lost?" The words belong to a girl about Riddle's age if not a year or so younger, with dark brown hair twisted into an elegant knot at the back of her head and sharp gray eyes. She carries an armload of books in addition to the many slung in a strained bag on her back. Wearing a plain blouse, skirt, and knee-high socks the same color as her eyes, she almost amusingly reminds Hermione of herself.

"Hello?" the girl prods again.

Hermione withholds a smile. "Yes, sorry," she says. "I've had a lot on my mind lately." _And no, I'm not lost._

"Ah," the girl replies knowingly. "Busy time of year." A pause, then— "I'm Minerva McGonagall. I don't think I've seen you before. What's your name?"

"Hermione Granger," Hermione answers, once again figuring giving her real name wouldn't hurt. She holds out her hand and continues, "Nice to meet you."

Minerva gives a warm smile, one very different to what the norm is in the future. "Yes, you as well. So, do you need anything?" she asks.

Hermione shakes her head. "I'm sure I can find my way."

Minerva seems almost disappointed. "All right then. I should be getting back to Divination anyway," she says sourly. "Not my favorite subject."

Hermione chuckles. At least _that_ part hasn't changed. "I agree. Useless subject if you ask me."

Minerva shares the laugh. "Requisites."

A quiet sigh leaves Minerva's lips, then she heads down a hallway Hermione would feel very safe in betting is the same one that eventually leads to the ladder and trapdoor to the future domain of Professor Trelawney.

Hermione shakes her head in more amusement, the meeting with Minerva taking off much of the edge of the meeting with Riddle.

* * *

Minerva walks away from the strange girl she just met, reluctantly even though she's never seen her before. She hadn't been at all lying—she hates Divination. Rearranging her ever-growing bag on her shoulders, she continues towards the classroom, reflecting on Hermione. She'd been pleasant, but the fact that despite being confident she knows everyone in the school either by name, face, or both, the title Hermione Granger sparks nothing in her memory. Curious.

She blinks a couple times to concentrate on the present, making her way up the Divination stairs and through the trapdoor. Class had already started, but instead of the students regarding her with expressions of superiority like in most other classes, they look relieved, happy to have even the briefest of reprieves from the lecture.

"Ah, Minerva!" muses Professor Tabitha. There is a hint of annoyance in her voice at Minerva's tardiness, but it's masked by the airiness of her voice. "Enter, child."

Minerva sets down her bag at the nearest pouffe next to two particularly unappealing boys, doing her best to drag out her movements. The longer she delays, the shorter class would be. As she glances up again, though, she finds herself a mere few inches away from two large spots of blue, which more resemble croquet balls than eyes as a result of Professor Tabitha's thick glasses.

"Ahh!" Minerva shrills in spite of herself.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, child! I didn't mean to scare you!" Professor Tabitha croons.

"What, your _Sight_ didn't work?" Minerva mutters maliciously.

Professor Tabitha's eyes narrow. "What was that, dear?"

"Nothing, Professor."

Professor Tabitha clearly doesn't believe her, but not one to indulge a scene that doesn't comprise of a "vision," she moves on. "Very well. I expect you know what today's material is?"

"Of course," replies Minerva. She doesn't like Divination one bit, but that doesn't mean she isn't always prepared for it.

Readying herself for yet another dull class period, she focuses on supposedly finding her immediate future in the endless mires of mist before her. She has more luck than most—she thinks—if the mist swirling into a sort of cat-shaped form means anything (though the book mentions nothing about it). Soon after Professor Tabitha declares the cat means Minerva is destined to have a boring and unimportant future, the class ends. She hurries out of the room with everyone else, jogging to her House common room. She sits down in front of the fire, allowing herself a few moments of peacefulness before she begins the homework she has due next week.

* * *

Not much time had passed, but Hermione, for one of the very few times in her seventeen years of existence, doesn't quite know what to do. She had ultimately ventured by Dumbledore's office, but as neither Riddle nor anyone else had given her the password, she hadn't been able to enter. She'd also eventually found his classroom, but no dice there either. So she took to wandering the castle; unfortunately, though there are slight changes, most of it looks the same as it does decades in the future.

She considers going to the Great Hall and getting some lunch, but the nearest clock tells her there's still an hour until food would be made available, and anyway, she's not sure where she'd sit.

Then, finally, she murmurs, "I wonder…"

The path welcomingly familiar, she makes her way to a very specific bathroom. When she arrives, she's half-pleased, half-pitying at the sound of body-wracking sobs. She steps into the bathroom, carefully avoiding the many puddles of water.

She stops in her tracks a few seconds later even though she was certain this would happen. "Myrtle?"


	6. Chapter Five

**Okay- **

**Amy Lee:**

**Thanks for the critique on my fanfic, but I have a few explanations, which I will post after the end of this chapter so people won't have to scroll down forever. So, just look at the bottom.**

**tessa: if by crazy do you mean good crazy? because then I'll be happy! hee. xoxo!**

**Pozest-Illusion: thanks again, and I _love _cliffhangers, so hah! well, i'm writing them anyway! mua ha ha…**

_Recap from Chapter 5:_

_So, with mind decided, Hermione confidently strode over to a clock, observing she still had about an hour left before lunch._

"_So much for that idea." Hermione said, disappointed. "Hey, I wonder…" she said, rushing off to the bathroom._

_When she got there, she heard someone crying. She carefully peered into the partially flooded room, and almost shrieked._

"_M—Myrtle?"_

**To continue………**

The newly-departed soul of Myrtle Mercier (A/N: I made up her last name) was sitting on the sill of the giant circular window in the third-floor girl's bathroom. Hermione never had seen the explanation for the window there. It never let any light in, and it was a particularly bland design—endless swirls of dull blues and grays, with the occasional spark of black. It used to be caked with dust, dirt, and grime, and she faintly remembered one of the panes of glass being completely broken, and another cracked from the center out. But this one was different. It looked newer; the colors more vibrant than before. Don't get it wrong—it was still boring, but just the slightest bit intriguing. Like you wanted to know how and why it was put there.

The sobbing girl ceased just enough so there was the slight hiccupping and sniffling to be heard. The familiar voice responded, "Y—yes?"

Hermione would have laughed if the situation had been in her own time. Just the whole scene. Myrtle in her transparent dress and high pigtails, crying her eyes out (figuratively speaking), and the same high-pitched voice.

"Y—you have come to laugh at me, too, have you!" Myrtle dramatically accused.

"No, not at all, Myrtle! I just came in to say hello." Hermione replied warmly.

Even as a ghost, Myrtle gave a vividly clear look of suspicion. "Hmm…I haven't seen _you _before! You're not O—Olive H—Hornby's s—sister, a—are you?" she started bawling again, rushing off with only a faint splash to be heard, and the slopping of water droplets on a door.

Hermione smiled at Myrtle's unchanging behavior, but stood there all the same. "Myrtle? I know you're in there! There's no use hiding from me, even if it's hard to see you. And, I am absolutely NOT Olive Hornby's sister…or any relation for that matter. I just came to ask you a question." Hermione said, looking around to see which toilet Myrtle disappeared to this time.

Slowly, a head of about a 15-year-old popped through the third door from the left. Hermione, having just seen it, uttered a shriek of surprise, then softened. "Don't _do _that!" she laughed.

Myrtle joined in, and in an even higher, but not crying, voice, she said, "I'm terribly sorry. But it's just so fun!" she twirled around in mid-air, the spectral dress glittering from the dimming lights.

Hermione suddenly got rather serious. "Myrtle." She said.

Moaning Myrtle stopped spinning, to look at her behind her glasses. "What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"I know how you died." Hermione stated.

Myrtle abruptly flashed anger. "YOU DO NOT!" she screamed. "NO ONE KNOWS! NO ONE EXCEPT _HIM!" _she yelled, pointing a thin, ethereal finger at something beyond Hermione.

Terrified, Hermione looked behind her, only to see a boy leaning against the door, raising his eyebrow somewhat, looking infuriatingly amused. Hermione did not want to abandon her 'chat' with a freshly-dead Myrtle, because she wanted to see how Myrtle knew it was Tom that killed her. Well, not him personally, but under his control. Myrtle only knew where and by what she died, not how or why. Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Dumbledore were the only ones that really did know the truth. Hermione was terribly puzzled by this. How would Myrtle think that Tom had something to do or knew about her demise if she didn't in the future?

"T—Tom!" Hermione stuttered. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," he replied calmly, "I did not see you at lunch and I went to go find you." He still had an amused appearance, but now had a Malfoy-worth smirk on his face. This got Hermione so exceptionally angry.

"Y—You!" Myrtle cut in with surprising fury. Tom even seemed the smallest bit taken aback at the spontaneous lividness from a ghost that he hadn't spoken to in five years.

"Yes. Me." He replied, now unfazed.

Hermione now interrupted. "You arrogant, selfish, self-absorbed, nasty, nauseating, inferior bastard!"

Myrtle looked impressed, and crossed her arms with a "Hmph!" with Hermione feeling surprised about her sudden outburst, but happy nonetheless.

Tom was composed and unaffected. He almost looked bored. This made Hermione even angrier. Tom clapped his hands slowly in mock applause. "Bravo. The witch has a dark side."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, and pursed her lips, clenching and unclenching her teeth. "I could say the same thing about you, Tom _Riddle!" _she emphasized. She smirked back as she saw his ever-growing anger expression. His eyes flashed dangerously with hatred.

"You have no idea what you're talking about wench! I have a new name now and that is not part of it! You just leave the hell alone in things you don't understand!" he spat back with every word dripping in venom.

Hermione, however, was glad she now had the upper hand, and the usually collected and cool Riddle was seething with fury. Hermione just repeated his eyebrow-raising gesture along with the best Draco Malfoy sneer she could muster up.

"Tsk, tsk, young Mr. Riddle. I would have thought better of you! To get all worked up over a name." she shook her head in ridicule as she stepped forward with each word. She finally was only about a foot away when she whispered in his ear, "Or would you prefer the term…_Voldemort?" _

His expression changed from loathing to sheer surprise as his now bright brown eyes widened. "H—How do you…" he trailed off.

"Oh, I have my ways." She answered distantly, waving her hand. "But, I really must be off. Places to go, people to see, you know."

She looked back for a fleeting instant at the previously silent ghost, who was now holding in rolling fits of laughter as she was watching the scene. She was shaking with attempted control. Finally, she let loose in a fit of loud, piercing giggles. Her pigtails were waving back and forth as she struggled for breath. Tom looked at her like he wanted to strangle her right there. Fortunately for her, she was already dead.

Hermione just smiled at Myrtle who now was recovered enough to look at her, though still chuckling hysterically. Hermione gave her the smallest wink as she left in a spin of robes and bag, leaving a speechless Tom Marvolo Riddle in her midst.

**So…what do you think? I was going to make this longer, although I don't know—it just seemed like a good place to stop…sorry guys! Next chapter will be up hopefully by the 26th, but maybe as late as the 28th.**

**Amy Lee:**

**First, I tried to edit this a _little bit _to accommodate the 'bookworm we all know and love', but I didn't want to abandon my plan completely.**

**Second, I think it's acceptable if she has attraction at first sight, do you not? After all, the stupendous J.K. Rowling never actually put in Hermione's point of views—just Harry's, so you really don't know what she was like. **

**Third, I am from America, and I am into football, so I related Tom's build to that of a high school or NFL player. You're right—I don't know exactly what sports would cause him to look similar, but as you said, 'Harry Potter fans span the globe after all'. Therefore, it might be somewhat annoying to those that are British, but for Americans I think they could relate, so then it would be unfair to us in the United States, I think.**

**Lastly, I'm not sure what parts of my fic you are relating to that they 'belong in an _American _high school'. I think that is totally unfair and judgmental. I don't see any truly immature parts that are way out of character for anyone. Maybe it's just me, but I haven't heard that from anyone else, either.**

**So, while I appreciate your opinion about my writing style and content, I do not agree with a lot of what you said. I'm not trying to be mean and hostile, but it's just what I think. So, if you could please tell me exactly _why _you thought that, then I would be much appreciative. Thanks.**

**Yours truly,**

**luvseanfaris**


	7. Chapter Six

**Hey, everyone! This took longer than expected, but here it is.**

**Oh—for thankyous:**

**SoMe wEirDo: **haha, yeah, I am updating now!

**Sivaroobini Lupin-Black: **I did look at her story, and, yeah, it was pretty good!

**PandylBas: **thanks, and bravo to you too!

**Chou hime: **thank you so much, and I will update soon!

**Super kai-chan: **thanks for the comment, and thanks for not completely getting mad at me for writing however people think I did.

**Amy Lee: **I am not going to continue our little online argument, but I still have one lingering question and comment. SPECIFICALLY, what terms/expressions did I use that were so 'americanized'? and, secondly, I don't want to look up british customs and stuff because it is not only british people that read fanfic, and I don't think I have to conform to a specific country, so sorry. Also, not to be completely sadistic, but I have no interest whatsoever in a beta-reader, so please don't suggest it. Lastly, Hermione _did _fight her feelings, if you read paragraph 7 of chapter 4, and others, you'll get it. But, this is a TRHG fic, so she can't be hostile towards him all the time. Thanks.

**Pozest-Illusion: **thanks ash, and hopefully 'Tommy' wont do that!

_Flashback:_

_She looked back for a fleeting instant at the previously silent ghost, who was now holding in rolling fits of laughter as she was watching the seen. She was shaking with attempted control. Finally, she let loose in a fit of loud, piercing giggles. Her pigtails were waving back and forth as she struggled for breath. Tom looked at her like he wanted to strangle her right there. Fortunately for her, she was already dead._

_Hermione just smiled at Myrtle who now was recovered enough to look at her, though still chuckling hysterically. Hermione gave her the smallest wink as she left in a spin of robes and bag, leaving a speechless Tom Marvolo Riddle in her midst._

**Now, to continue where we left off…**

Hermione walked away from the dank, damp, unused bathroom, the smell of both Tom and years of neglect still faintly lingering. She could hear Myrtle's unique but somehow oddly comforting laughter, shortly accompanied by Tom's soon-to-be-merciless voice yelling at her to stop. She ceased, being followed by an immense splash, telling Hermione she had gone back into the U-bend.

Hermione hastened her footsteps, not wanting to be caught by Tom. She knew he had much faster strides, and so she hid behind a tunnel pretending to be a wall—one that Harry had shown her last spring. She relaxed a little, shrinking down into the shadows so only the faint flickering of light shining through a chink in the wall gleamed off her hair. Unfortunately for her, Tom was well accustomed to the goings-on in Hogwarts, and, as a result, knew all the shortcuts.

So, while Hermione was getting ready to check if he was anywhere near there, he burst in through, looking directly at her small form. "So…" he raised an eyebrow, smirking. "We meet again."

Hermione simply looked up at him, his immense figure staring down at her. To her surprise, he knelt down next to her, his face but six inches from her own. Slowly, she backed away. "Y—Yes. We do." She stammered.

"What was with that, by the way?" he asked, intrigued.

"W—What do you mean?" she asked innocently.

His eyes darkened to the pitch-blackness of the dimming room. It was eerie to see almost no whites of his eyes. "You know perfectly well what I mean." He answered, trying to be intimidating.

He was partially succeeding, but Hermione already knew which things touched his nerves. "Oh really?" she said, gaining back her voice. "_Voldemort."_

He glowered at her, flaring his nostrils, his eyes blazing with fury. Suddenly, he grabbed her upper arm with such force she gasped. He made no effort to release her. "Just like that. How do you know?" he asked, his voice low and horrifying.

"I've already told you, Riddle. Unless your overly-enlarged, Muggle-hater brain has already forgotten. But somehow I don't believe that. Am I to be mistaken?" she said, quite calmly.

He changed his expression of that to match hers. "Last time I checked," he sneered, "I know more about magic and the Dark Arts than you will ever hope to."

Hermione simply laughed, her eyebrows raised in fake surprise. "Well, well, well, we have finally found out what young Tom has been up to. The Dark Arts, you say? I guarantee you that I know more about them than you do, Mr. Riddle. Test me. Well? Go on!" she tempted, her eyes widening to tell him to question her.

He refused. "Stupid witch. Leave the more complicated subjects to me and you go on with your useless, know-it-all, redundant tendencies to show off your unimpressive memorizations."

He got up to leave, with Hermione letting his insult slide off her like the slime he would become, but wracking her brain for something to say. She put on a both pleading and sympathetic voice, shockingly true. "Look. Tom. Could you _please _just _try _to be the least bit civil to me? I mean, what reason is there for us to be enemies? We hardly know each other."

To her surprise, and his, he stopped, his hand on the tapestry already. He started to turn stiffly, his face impassive, his eyes showing apprehension, but softer than they were before. He said nothing.

Hermione looked at him expectantly, aware of their awkward position—her on the floor looking very odd, most likely, and him in complete control, though she could not for the life of her tell what he must be thinking. She stood up, a force beyond what she knew coming over her.

She gazed at him for a moment, before wrapping her arms around him in a light but sympathetic hug. He turned rigid, and started to pull away, but then stopped, the basis for it unknown to both of them. He did not move to further it, just stood there. Before he could say anything, Hermione hastened away, his slight cedar and apple-cinnamon scent on her still, even though their contact lasted only a few seconds. She did not know what stupid energy possessed her to do that, but oddly enough did not regret it. She knew now that what he needed was to be shown that someone did care for him, even if he did not return it.

"_So this is how I'm supposed to help Harry!" _Hermione realized suddenly. Sure, she had forced herself to come back here, but still hadn't known why exactly she had done so. It was foolish, she knew, and she hadn't really thought it all through. She just had to help him, without her understanding the consequences. _"Well, Harry, I'll do whatever it takes to help you. I just hope I'm doing the right thing!" _

She was both pleased and disappointed at the same time to only hear her own small footsteps echoing in the eerily empty school. Of course Tom wouldn't follow her again, yet she wondered with a passion what he was thinking right now. Whether he was hating her now more than ever, or, by some force of nature, did not loathe her as much as he used to.

**Well? Sorry it's pretty short again. Tell me if it's too much, too little, or just enough Tom/Hermione action, okay? Thanks, and until next week!**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Okay…um…not as many reviews as I had hoped…**

**But, I like you guys and I like TRHG, so I'm going to ignore the lack of comments and continue anyway. But please review! **

**Much love, luvseanfaris**

Pozest-Illusion: thanks for being faithful in reviewing, and for always saying the right things!

Sadistically Insane: Thank you soooooo much for your awesome review! That totally brightened my day! And I'm glad I caused you happiness, too. Love you lots!

_Flashback_

_She was both pleased and disappointed at the same time to only hear her own small footsteps echoing in the eerily empty school. Of course Tom wouldn't follow her again, yet she wondered with a passion what he was thinking right now. Whether he was hating her now more than ever, or, by some force of nature, did not loathe her as much as he used to._

**Now let's get some more TRHG going, huh?**

Hermione, for the second time in the last three days, had made a foolish decision. Well, one that she hadn't thought through, anyway. Usually she was calm, levelheaded, and rarely ever got anything wrong. She reasoned that it must be the shock of coming back to Hogwarts 50 years in the past. Of course. That was it.

It was like someone else had taken over her body when she and Tom were in the small passageway after meeting Myrtle. She didn't mean to exhibit physical contact with him—it just _happened. _True, it was very un-Hermione like, and would be frowned upon severely by nearly everyone in her era, but she concluded that he wasn't Voldemort yet. He was just Tom Riddle—a handsome, intelligent, mostly belligerent, but overall normal 17-year-old. And she was Hermione Granger—smart, stubborn, friendly 16-year-old witch. There was nothing wrong with her wanting to show that someone might actually like him enough to show caring, right?

She came out of her room, after making herself presentable, donning the customary black robes. This time she chose, reluctantly, to lose the sweater and go with a more conservative attire. That is, to say, a black forearm-length button-up shirt, a dark coffee colored skirt going down to her ankles, and coal-black strappy sandals…though not too Lavender like. Overall, she was pleased with her outfit, even if she would have chosen something different had she been with Harry and Ron.

That morning she had come across a predicament, however. How was she going to get all her school supplies, clothes, and other necessities? Problem solved. Three words—Room of Requirement. She walked three times past the seemingly blank wall, thinking, _"I need 1940s generation clothes, my schoolbooks from my home time, and my old Hogwarts things." _To her luck and surprise, she was greeted by a cream colored door, which she opened to find everything she asked for. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she shut the door and began to make that her makeshift common room. She was very happy with the fact no one would be able to disturb her now…unless they somehow knew _exactly _what she was doing in there. Which, hopefully, no one did.

Hermione then stopped, abruptly becoming aware of a problem. How was she going to get around to all her classes and eat and such if she wasn't really born yet? She didn't want to go running to Dumbledore like lost 5-year-old, but then again, she didn't know exactly how she was going to survive in this time. And a man named Tom Marvolo Riddle was not really an option. Unless by some stroke of luck and his getting a sudden case of amnesia would he be inclined to help her. After pondering for a moment or two, Hermione very reluctantly accepted that Dumbledore was her only option. What else was she going to do?

Hermione started walking out of the Room of Requirement, inflating her chest, then released the deep breath she had just partaken in. Just then, a certain someone happened to be coming around the corner. For the half second Hermione had her eyes closed, she found her self hitting not solid wall, but instead solid muscle. As soon as she smelled that sweet cinnamon-apple scent, she knew who it was, and from that, she internally groaned.

"_This is just not my day." _She thought, oddly enough for the second time in two days.

She looked up resentfully to be met with a strangely comforting simper and a pair of gorgeous green-flecked hazel eyes. "Oh. It's you." She said, masking her surprise.

"So it is." He replied, mocking her tone.

He opened his mouth partway, and Hermione thought she had a feeling she knew what he was going to say. He wanted to know what she meant by the hug the day before. Hermione _really _did not want to talk about it. She moved to go around him, but, unfortunately, he was bigger and stronger than she was, and he easily blocked her path, holding her by her shoulder and turning her around. He quirked an eyebrow, with a knowing and almost calculating smile.

"No." he said plainly. "I don't think so. You will tell me now exactly what happened yesterday." He glared at her with predomination, but she thought she could detect a flicker of curiosity in his dark eyes.

Hermione was all too aware of her creeping blush, but desperately tried to force it down. "I have no idea what you are talking about." She said deceptively.

Tom looked at her with the same expression, though with that trademark all-knowing glint apparent on his features. "Oh I think you do." He said vaguely but commanding.

Hermione looked down, recognizing defeat. "Look. It meant nothing, okay? Spur of the moment." She answered.

"_Well, it's mostly true anyway." _She thought with the slightest twinge of guilt.

Hermione didn't know why, but as she was looking up at him, he quickly downcast his eyes to the somehow intriguing mahogany flooring. She took the moment to intake his perfect yet saddening features. His hair was a shade darker than his eyes, the bright light from the corridor accentuating natural but vague highlights there. Hermione internally cursed him. She hated guys that could have absolutely perfect hair without doing a thing to it. Well, not hated _them _necessarily, but that aspect.

It was at this precise moment that he chose to snap his flashing eyes up to her sepia-colored ones. "Nothing? Everything means something." He said sagely.

"No, I'm serious! But I can assure you it wont happen again." She said, dreadfully aware of the sadness etched in her voice.

He didn't seem to notice—or else he was hiding it well. "You'd better hope so, Granger. You don't want to get on my bad side."

'Do you have a good one?' she was about to retort, but thought better of it. He had really hit a nerve, though. She absolutely despised people calling her by her last name. there wasn't anything wrong with it, of course, but the repeated use of those seven letters was making her first name seem a novelty.

"So I'm on a side then?" she decided upon asking.

He looked, for once, confused. Though, it was possible she imagined it, as it dispersed as soon as she had seen it flickering. "Excuse me?" he said irritably.

"Well, as you claim to say," she emphasized, "I may not know as much about the Dark Arts as you do, but apparently I'm one-up in logic. You should be saying congratulations to me, Riddle! You are so rude." She said sarcastically.

For some reason unbeknownst to Hermione, he pretended not to hear her cynicism slide. "Yeah. I've heard." He admitted, eyes darting slightly, his voice almost indistinct.

Hermione smiled at his honesty. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I've seen worse." She consoled, thinking strongly of Malfoy and Pansy.

As soon as his truthfulness came, it vanished as his expression turned wrathful again. "It doesn't." he replied coldly.

"Fine." Hermione said, a burning sensation right behind her eyes, but she was daring the threatening droplets to fall. She prayed they didn't, but she had the feeling he could tell what she was about to do anyway. She couldn't cry in front of him—she _wouldn't._ Her temporary luck held out, though, as only the bottom half of her vision was slightly blurred.

He looked impatient. "What is it with women and their _feelings?" _he asked, though it was more of an accusation.

"W—what?" she asked, genuinely confused, but her speech slurred somewhat.

"You're crying." He observed.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am—" she paused, his face telling her there was absolutely no way she was going to win this one. "Fine. Whatever. You think that." She twisted the truth.

"Well, I don't know what caused you to do it, but if it was something I did, then I—I'm s—sor—sorry." He said forcefully, through his clenched teeth.

Her tears immediately ceased, her smile ever widening with happiness. He actually apologized! "Oh my God…you actually have feelings!" she proclaimed.

His lips twitched a little bit, and although his faintly etched face did not show it, his eyes were brimming with emotion—the first real emotions that Hermione had ever seen from him since coming here. Then he did the unthinkable. He laughed. And it was not a mirthless laugh like the one in Myrtle's bathroom, but a real one. It was deep and rich, and although it was only faintly perceptible, it still filled the hallway with his happiness longing to emerge from its despaired shell.

Hermione took his momentary lapse of evilness to do what she had been yearning to do since the day before. She instantaneously closed the two or so foot gap between them, giving him another warm embrace, even lifting her feet off the floor slightly. To her utter surprise, he actually held her up, instead of dropping her to the ground as past experiences would imply. She felt his compassionate warmth emanating onto her, reveling for someone who was considered so cold and heartless. His touch sent delightful shivers up her chilled spine, immediately filling her with an internal rise of temperature.

She felt his strong chest slowly rise and fall as he held her, and even though it probably only lasted a few moments, to Hermione it felt like wondrous hours. In the back of her mind, their was an imperceptible thought that she really shouldn't be embracing the future Lord Voldemort. But that's just what he was, she reasoned. The _future _Lord Voldemort. Right now he was Tom Riddle…though Slytherin and seemingly stone-hearted, still capable of feelings. And that stray bad thought slipped effortlessly through Hermione's mind.

**This chapter was longer for you guys, so I hope more will review, because that really brightens my days! Thanks so much to my faithful readers, and I really appreciate seeing my stories read! Again, I love you all so much, and please keep gracing me with your thoughts.**

**xoxoxoxoxo,**

**luvseanfaris**


	9. Chapter Eight

**Wow! I got lots more reviews on that last chapter! Thanks! **

_Rain-Ix: _Thanks!

_An Unsanitary Dream: _thanks, and I'm happy you could actually get what I was trying to make his laughter sound like.

_PhanPhic-adict: _thanks, and yes tom did show feeling! And, yeah, it must have seemed hard for him, though we all know he has some kind of heart in there somewhere, right?

_Mrs Pierre Bouvier: _haha, I couldn't find anything either, but thanks for liking it enough to review again!

_chipped-nails: _thanks soooo much!

_Charming-Lynn: _thank you again!

_Sivaroobini Lupin-Black: _Sorry for kind of making Hermione out of character…I really am…( maybe the traveling 50 years back scrambled up her mind? Anyways, I'm sorry again, but will you forgive me? Hehe…

_Windforce: _thanks, but the question is…_will _she return to the present:evil cackle:

_**Encantada**: _thanks for your praises and review, and I have a few things to clarify. Yes, I know, she is a bit ooc, but then again so is the coupling of her and tom. Lol. Also, I know I don't think there is a time traveling potion per se, but it made me refrain from explaining something that I probably couldn't come up with anyway. ) and, yeah, I'm trying to think of a way for her to talk to teachers and such, but I'll get to that later. Lastly, with the 'baggy jeans' part, I didn't mean as loose as guys today have them, just slightly less rigid as the dress pants that they used to wear in the '40s. I'm so sorry if it was terribly confusing! But thanks so much anyway for reviewing!

_AureliaMalfoy: _thank you SOOOOOO much for saying my story is good and for contradicting my negative reviewer(s)! I love you! Haha. xoxoxo.

_Love Joyal: _haha, yeah, it does make you wonder…hmmm……but I'll leave that up to you to ponder…and I am infinitely gratified that you said I proved you wrong! Yay!

_Sadistically Insane: _as always, I adore you for always being my faithful reviewer! I can always count on you! And, yeah, I feel bad for sirius, but he can deal. lmao. xoxo!

_SheWalksWithRavens: _I like cookies…and I want to hug him too! He sounds so delicious, doesn't he?

_**Kat**: _wow. I don't know where to start with my thanks to you. Thanks a billion for defending my story and further praising it! You are like my savior! I don't know what else to say except thank you so much and I love you for it! Kisses!

_padfootbabeinblack: _thanks, and it's okay…I don't review as often as I'd like either!

_Pozest-Illusion: _as always, thanks to you and Sadistically Insane I can at least count on two reviews per chapter! And I'm glad I made you laugh!

**Phew. Lots of reviewers to thank! But it is totally necessary. I love you all so much even if it doesn't seem like it sometimes! But, without further adieu (haha, love that word), on with the fic!**

Tom slowly let Hermione down, in an act of both consideration and confusion as to the thing he had just done with her. He was in a mixed vat of emotions. He wasn't sure whether he should be happy (_"there's a novel thought." _he thought bitterly), sad, angry, confused, or all of the above.

He hadn't known what to do exactly. She had just thrown herself—literally—at him. For more than a second there, he was ashamed to admit, he contemplated just letting her drop to the floor, him pulling his foot away from the dust covered ground, leaving her hurt and saddened body lying on the frigid, harsh tile. Then something—a force perhaps—overcame him suddenly, engulfing his whole cold being with an odd sort of warmth. Something unknown snapped into place in his reeling brain, something he wasn't sure what to do with. It was as if the scene unfolded in slow motion. He watched her close the small distance between them, her arms starting to fall towards him, and her bright brown eyes fluttering shut.

In the split second decision he had before they made contact, he thought, almost fondly, of their enlightening, but at the time bitter, embrace after their encounter with Myrtle. He had been so devoid of emotions and feelings; so repelling and stone-hearted. Then that simple yet intriguingly complex feat of hers happened; one moment changing his whole twisted life. Now, instead of falsely laughing and having to fake excitement, it was really happening. He had never read about anything like this possessing people. It was filling his head full of thoughts and ideas and possible explanations. So far, the only one he could come up with was that she had performed some sort of curse on him. Though he could not figure out which.

So when her daring operation to show friendliness towards him arose, he simply yet hastily decided to return the favor—a favor in which he had never done before. The resulting feeling and connection was mysterious yet oddly comforting. He had never felt that way before. Let alone from a simple hug. Distastefully, he reluctantly felt a kind of passionate, understanding ardor creep up into his seldom used but longing heart. Where there once was a nagging but occasionally forgettable crevice was now a beating, brightening, inflation of feeling and color. He had heard of this happening to people, but had not had it happen to him personally. It was not described in any books—well, at least not spelled out. One simple word, yet meaning whatever you wanted it to. Love. He, even as a child, had never experienced that supposedly wonderful emotion, never exhibited it either.

What he was feeling, however, could not be that. 17 years and not even a wisp of a mention of that strong sensation, and now in one feeble moment all descriptions of it come flooding into an emotionally deprived soul. Never had this event even come sliding across his mind. The only time it came close was when his deep and dark brown eyes met hers for the first time. He had neglected to acknowledge it, and instead masked any approaching endeavors by impatience, brusqueness and isolation. Now, however, he wasn't so sure he could carry on for much longer.

So, as he lay in his green-and-silver-framed dormitory, his uncannily intelligent mind was, for the first time, at a loss of explanation. There was just nothing coming to him. For a fleeting instant, he wondered if she was feeling the same things. If she was trying to deny it with all her power. If she knew why. If she knew how much this struggling was agonizing him. But mainly…where she was.

-----------------------------

Hermione sat on her lifeless bed, very much alone. The moment Tom and her connection had been broken, they had looked at each other with uncertainty, but also with lust. He had gently placed her two feet back on the echoing, slate floor, looking into her eyes with his cavernous, almost-black ones. It was almost as if he was daring her to do something determinedly courageous again. She hadn't noticed his warm hands slip away slowly from her arms, until she started shivering. As she watched his fingers fumble slightly with the ebbing blackness of his robes, she desperately wished they were around her waist again.

Her mind whirring with thoughts and emotions, Hermione, for some inexplicable reason, felt a single hot and salty tear roll down her worried face. One tear. It was all the conclusive information she needed to reminisce on her rapidly spiraling life. It was all she needed to realize that maybe this wouldn't turn out okay. The whole time she had been here, she had kept thinking that they—that is to say, she Harry, and Ron—had been through much worse and this was nothing. But the truth was, something always had to be worse than something else. It was just a simple fact of life. And this has got to have been the end of the downward decline. Frantically, Hermione realized that she might not be able to help herself out of this one. Maybe this really was the end. She chided herself for thinking that, and knew Harry would disprove of her for that, and she abashedly thought of all that he had been through. Things he had scarcely explained for her and Ron.

The droplet now dissolved into her pillow, slowly spreading a dark blue, Hermione stared determinedly up at the starry ceiling. She knew what she had to do, much as she hated to admit it. The answer this time was not Dumbledore, though she knew he would be the next best thing. The answer was—HIM. Yes. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was the solution.

---------------------------

Morning came all too early, both Hermione and Tom not realizing they had fallen asleep. Their thoughts must have been too overwhelming, sleep engulfing their emotionally and physically fatigued forms. Tom awoke, his heavy eyes snapping open, dark brown lashes blinking once, clearing his clouded head. Suddenly the events of the previous night hit him over the head like a speeding train. He groaned to himself, though audibly, closing his eyes again and rubbing his hands over his worn but young face. Admitting defeat, he threw his covers up, perhaps a bit more forcefully than he intended. Upon the soft thud of them hitting the floor, Tom carelessly picked up his faithful and used wand from the bedside table, sweeping it quickly over the bed. It was made up with hardly a wrinkle. Tom smirked to himself, pleased at his own ingenious magical ability.

Carelessly he threw a shirt over his well-defined chest, and haphazardly putting on a pair of carefully folded jeans. With his ebony robes completing his attire, he brushed his teeth, and barely having a like-new comb hit his hair. Grabbing his wand, he strode out of the room, irritated but also astounded at his dorm mates' ability to sleep through anything.

Hermione went through effectively the same regimen, though using a few more minutes with a brush. As satisfied as she was ever going to be, she walked purposefully, though not cockily, out of her mismatched room. Lately, she had not cared about how her living arrangements had looked. She didn't know why her sudden laziness had occurred, but it just had. In the back of her mind, there was the traditional Hermione-like scolding, telling her to clean up the slowly mounting chaos. As flashbacks of last night came flooding forcefully throughout her, Hermione decisively re-opened her door, speaking the spell, _"Pulisca Escrimae", _the contents of her room rearranging themselves satisfyingly. Hermione smiled at her spotless remembrance, now letting the door close itself, her grin all too evident on her face.

Unknown to both, Tom and Hermione happened to be walking towards each other, neither evident of the other's thoughts, though they were uncannily similar. Tom's dark brow furrowed as he heard small footsteps, their sound reverberating off of the stone walls. Hoping that it wasn't who he thought it was, though for some reason knowing he was wrong, he kept walking.

As they caught sight of each other, Hermione gazed longingly into Tom's unreadable eyes, his traditional right eyebrow raised slightly so it gave his expression a permanent cocky, all-knowing glint. "T—Tom! I—well—hi." Hermione stammered.

Tom looked at her passionately. Desperately trying to keep his smirk on his face, but knowing soon it would all fade into nothingness, he replied, "Hermione. What brings you here?"

Hermione opened her mouth slightly, then closed it. She felt daring; the truth was bound to come out eventually. After fast but careful thought, she answered.

"You."

**So? Is it alright? I'm sorry I made you guys wait a long time, but I've been really busy. I tried to make it longer! I can't make any promises as to when the next one will be out, but hopefully sometime before Friday. Please review, and remember you guys mean the world to me!**

**xoxo,**

**luvseanfaris**


	10. Chapter Nine

**I wanted to update sooner than before, and I was bored, so I'm giving you another chapter. Oh, by the way, thanks to:**

_Pozest-Illusion: Thanks…but why did you think Voldemort was gay? Well, anyway, Hermione and Tom will get to that soon…:evil cackle:_

_Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Haha, yeah, I've had that happen to me dozens of times! And thanks for mentioning something that you actually liked!_

_LillyFan78: Wow…I'm extremely flattered! Thank you! _

_padfootbabeinblack: Yay! We're both making efforts! Haha…:joins in happy little dance:_

_SheWalksWithRavens: I know, I know, I'm sorry! But thanks for everything!_

_Sadistically Insane: You're back! Yay! And extra thanks to you for being the first to review practically all my chapters! All my love!_

_Flashback:_

_Tom looked at her passionately. Desperately trying to keep his smirk on his face, but knowing soon it would all fade into nothingness, he replied, "Hermione. What brings you here?"_

_Hermione opened her mouth slightly, then closed it. She felt daring; the truth was bound to come out eventually. After fast but careful thought, she answered._

"_You."_

_**---------------**_

Tom looked taken aback, his mask of indifference starting to fade. He definitely hadn't expected this overly-honest response from her. True, her actions implicated that she had at least friendly feelings towards him; he didn't count on her being that truthful. He was surprised, but somehow it was comforting and pleasant.

"M—me?" he stuttered, though desperately trying to hide it.

Hermione smiled both seductively and abashedly at him as she first looked at the polished wood flooring, then to his intoxicating eyes. "Yes, Tom. It probably seems a bit forward and I'm sure it's unexpected—"

"_That's an understatement." _Tom thought perceptively.

"—but it's true, and I didn't want you to get the wrong impressions, though they were probably pretty obvious…" She finished, a now customary blush seeping into her pale face.

Tom smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly straight, stark-white teeth. Determinedly, he stepped forward, taking her small hands into his. He felt a shiver go up her arms, grinning at the thought. Her hands were cold, he noticed, and he tried to warm them subtly, although he could see the start of a smile appearing in her mouth.

"Yeah, well, me too, Hermione. But it's wrong for us to like each other. And I believe you know why. I'm sorry." He said reluctantly.

Sadly, he saw a single tear roll down her soft cheek, her not bothering to brush it away. To his disappointment, she pulled her hands out of his grasp, his becoming more glacial with each passing moment. It pained him inside; he was burning up with just the thought. And to think it was just three days ago when this would have been the kind of thing he would be laughing about. Now he knew that this was what it felt like to have someone's heart being exploded into a million pieces over and over again.

She looked at him confusingly for a moment, her eyes now glassy with unshed tears. She swallowed, another droplet following the first. "Fine. Don't hold your breath waiting for me…Riddle." She said icily, her eyes now turning to stone, not holding any emotion.

She turned from him briskly, her steps once again reverberating off of every hard, cold, smooth surface in the castle. Faintly, there was the sound of a torrential downpour, accompanied by the occasional burst of forceful wind and flashes of white lightning. To Hermione, it seemed to mimic what she was feeling right now. She had thought he liked her in return. She knew, just like he did, that it _was _wrong for them to be together—him with his ideas of evil, her just about the closest thing to good. Apart from Harry and Dumbledore of course.

Still, from the moment she met him she was enticed by his odd yet interesting being. He was a troubled spirit, that much was certain. Yet, there was light even beneath that overwhelming blanket of death and discord. She couldn't help but feel drawn to him and feel sorry for him all at the same time. To her utter surprise, he had not rejected her. Well, at first, of course—she was new…but after that… She just didn't understand _why _two people in lust (or was it love?) couldn't be happy together. He was just frightened that someone was getting so close to him. She would fix that.

--------------------------------

Hermione slowly walked into the room, the temperature being such a difference from just going past the archway. It felt at least ten degrees colder in here than it did out where she usually walked. It looked so barren, cold, and desolate in here. Freezing ceramic tile with glass, grimed mirrors and flaked, chipped paint. She didn't see how anyone—alive or dead—could stand being in here for eternity.

She heard a splash somewhere close, and was instantly met with a pair of watery, translucent eyes; so close to her that she had to take a step back.

The ghost laughed. "Oh. It's you! I thought it was going to be _him _again."

Hermione looked saddened at just the thought of Tom. "Yes. Him. Hey, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

Myrtle Mercier looked at her strangely, her thick hair draping her ghostly shoulders in ponytails. "Hmm? How so?" she asked in her unnaturally high-pitched voice.

"You know Riddle?" Hermione questioned, almost rhetorically. Myrtle nodded, hair bobbing from the movement. "How—How did you know he had something to do with your death?"

Hermione had decided to settle her uneasy mind once and for all. She listened intently to Myrtle's answer. "Ooh, it was dreadful. I saw those yellow eyes, and—"

Hermione interrupted. She had heard this already. "Yes. I know. Don't ask me how," she added, seeing Myrtle's mouth open slightly to retaliate, "But I do, and I know it's the basilisk that killed you. I'm asking how you know _Riddle _had something to do with you."

Myrtle looked livid. "I KNOW! I WAS GETTING THERE!" she yelled.

Slightly frightened, Hermione had a look of minute terror on her face. Myrtle laughed again. "Sorry. It's just the whole death thing. It's a bit depressing."

"Understandable." Hermione agreed, but with a tone of impatience in her voice.

"Oh. Back to Tom." Myrtle said, waving her small hand. "You see, right at the exact moment I died, I saw his face, right behind those terrible eyes. I know it was him!" she defended, seeing Hermione's doubtful face.

"Are you _sure?" _Hermione asked.

"YES!" screamed Myrtle. "YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME!"

"No. No, I really do…it's just…well…different than before." Hermione explained cryptically.

Myrtle was confused, her face showing it. "Huh?"

"_Well, who's Myrtle to care?" _Hermione thought. _"I might as well tell someone."_

She took a deep breath and released it. "Myrtle? I'm from the future." She said bluntly.

Had she been alive, Myrtle would have fainted, but even as a ghost, she looked aghast, and even had a look of utter shock and confusion and horror in her clear face.

**Yes, it's short, and yes, it's a HUGE cliffhanger, but I wanted to get this other chapter up before I procrastinated too long on it. I'll post soon, though, I promise!**

**Also, i know hermione and tom seem _really _out of character here, but please bear with me! i'm just trying to describe what is going on inside their heads more than what is actually happening. though there will be much of that also. forgive me::sad eyes:**

**xoxo,**

**luvseanfaris**


	11. Chapter Ten

**Okay, here's chapter 11, everyone! I will make this one longer for you all, because I feel I owe you more than just tiny chapters. But first, my responses:**

**sweet-essence03: **thank you SOOOO much! And I think tom is very hot, also. Haha we have a crush on a book character…this is so sad…anyway, thank you again, and aren't you glad I'm updating? Hah I'm full of myself, sorry.

**hglvr42593: **thanks!

**Angelic Bladez: **I must admit when I read the first few lines of your review, I thought you were a flamer! but then I read it, and sorry for not updating and for my cliffhanger! I wont do as extreme ones in the future. As extreme.

**PhanPhic-adict: **I love your username, btw! Anyhow, just wait, tom and Hermione will be together soon. And I agree—house fights are stupid.

**Kitty0617: **Thanks!

**Pozest-Illusion: **haha, I am laughing so hard! Aghost! Lol, I laugh at like everything. Yes, I'll update again soon.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Thanks**—I tried to make myrtle in character.

**BlueEyedFairy: **Thank you so much, and I love your stories too!

**Sadistically Insane: **Ah, my faithful and wonderful reviwer. Yes, tom killed myrtle already, because I think he did it in 6th year, right? Well, either way, myrtle's a goner, and I have to keep her that way…for now…haha::evil look:

**padfootbabeinblack: **thanks! Yeah, I agree, that dance has gone on for a while…

**Rain-Ix: **uh oh…bad tom…you'll find out where myrtle ends up in due time, don't worry my fantastic reviewers.

**Phew! So many reviwers! But if you want to, keep them coming because they brighten my lately dim days! On with the chapter…**

_Flashback_

_She took a deep breath and released it. "Myrtle? I'm from the future." She said bluntly._

_Had she been alive, Myrtle would have fainted, but even as a ghost, she looked aghast, and even had a look of utter shock and confusion and horror in her clear face._

---------------------------

Myrtle's celestial mouth was agape, her pearlescent teeth shining with the dim sunlight coming through the window. Her pigtails and dress were slightly blowing in the nonexistent breeze, and all was quiet except for the steady _drip drip _of the broken faucet. After a while, myrtle pursed her lips and scrunched up her face in confusion.

"So you—you—you're really from—the—the _future?" _Myrtle asked, still amazed and flabbergasted.

"Yes." Hermione said simply. She decided the unblocked path would be the harshest but easiest one.

"Hmmm…" Myrtle thought aloud. "So that's how you knew how I died?" she asked quietly.

Hermione briefly glanced at the soaked and slippery floor. "Yes."

"Ah." Myrtle said ambiguously. Suddenly her eyes brightened, glistening wildly. "Can you tell me things? Huh? Can you!"

Hermione laughed in spite of herself at Myrtle's excitement. On the one hand, Myrtle is dead, so it wouldn't really matter if Hermione told her. On the other hand, Myrtle is still talking and walking, so she could tell others. Hermione was having a fast-paced internal battle with herself.

"Um…like what kind of things?" Hermione settled.

"I dunno. Like…" Myrtle started, thinking. She suddenly got an exhilarated smile on her face. "Like how many cute guys can I see na—" she stopped, redness unable to come across on her face, but Hermione was sure it would be there if Myrtle was alive. "I—I mean…"

Hermione saved her by holding up a hand. "It's alright." She said with a laugh. "Trust me…you'll meet _plenty _of guys." She responded, thinking fondly of Cedric and Harry during their quest for the second Triwizard task clue. Abashedly, she thought of how jealous at that moment she would be of Myrtle. Sure there were probably more cons than pros, but being able to sneak up on people (especially of the male gender), would be appealing.

"_Hmmm…" _Hermione thought quickly. _"I wonder who looked better…Cedric or Harry…" _she stopped thinking, flushing at her own ideas. Ghosts and Lavender were really starting to have an effect on her. Which was bad.

"Hermione?" Myrtle said tentatively. "Anything else I should know?" she asked, slightly concerned, but unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

"Huh? Oh. No, not really…" Hermione trailed off lamely. Myrtle fixed her with something like a frown mixed with a look of confusion with a dash of disappointment in there.

"Oh." Myrtle replied. "Well, so much for that." She said simply. "I wasn't expecting much…not even when I was alive." An almost corporeal tear slid down her cheek, falling onto her dress, but disappearing before anything could happen. Abruptly, Myrtle sped off towards the drain, vanishing from Hermione's astonished eyes. Hermione shook her head, smirking at the past to future similarities.

--------------------------

Tom violently shook his head, dark brown curls shadowing his even darker but captivating eyes. Irritatingly, he brushed a particularly unruly strand out of his way, though that one happened to be shorter than the rest, so it did absolutely nothing. All that annoyance did to his mood was increase it in anger. He was very pissed off at himself, the world, and everyone in it. He cursed him and his family for passing down the "No-one-cares-for-me-so-i-don't-care-for-them-and-i-will-be-an-ass" gene. And, unfortunately, he had to continue and stick with it. He couldn't help it. But lately, the better half of his mind had been telling him how stupid he was for believing it. Unconsciously, he agreed.

He sighed for the twelfth time that day, sub-consciously fidgeting with that irking wisp of hair. "This is getting ridiculous." He muttered. "_Encarre." _ That once impish piece of hair was immediately lengthened and forcefully shoved behind his ear, though with him smirking. He had only just discovered that spell after he had been hit with a particularly bothersome hex by a girl he had thrice rejected. He had thought it was low at the time (and still did, as he grimaced), but gave her commends after struggling to find a counter-curse.

Slowly—very slowly—he trudged down to the Slytherin common room, and despite his recent warmness, he was shivering just the slightest bit. As he thought again, he was desperately wondering why the dorms were down in the dungeons. What purpose or perks did they serve being all the way underground? In his eyes, there was absolutely no point. At all. But he didn't have a choice. The Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin; there was no alternative.

Impulsively, he stopped. "Wait." He said, unnecessarily, to himself. "There is _one _option. Mind you, it would be insanely awkward and embarrassing. Not to mention I would be completely contradicting myself. But the way I see it, I have to do it. To save my conscience…and hers."

**Yeah, I know it's kind of a bad chapter, but I'll update hopefully again tonight, but probably by tomorrow. But I hope this'll sustain you till then? Anyhow, I'll be up soon! xoxo.**


	12. Chapter Eleven

**All my thanks to: Rain-Ix, padfootbabeinblack, Twilight Elf-Maiden, Pozest-Illusion, Voldy's pink teddie (I think I answered your review), sweet-essence03, and hiya! (thanks so much, btw!)!**

hermionegranger2007:thanks so much, and I did read your story! It's excellent! You probably read my review already, but it's there, trust me. : )

Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Thank you so much! Lol, I tried to make it relatively funny. I had just been reading parts of the 4th book again, and was reminded of that. I wouldn't mind cedric either…lmao! But thanks for reading, and, yeah, that is very ironic!

--------------------------

Tom walked purposefully but nonchalantly through the halls of Hogwarts, and for the first time in his life cursing them for being so damn difficult to navigate. Vaguely, the extremely irritating part of his mind was telling him that maybe his desired object didn't want to be found. Brusquely, he shoved that away.

"_Preposterous." _He thought with a grumble. _"She has no reason to do that."_

Then he crashed down to reality with a startling collision. _"Of _course _she has a reason to do that. She has all the reasons in the world." _He resignedly reflected, sighing.

He was so caught up in his whirling mind that he didn't realize where he was going. He did not slam into anybody—no, although it was just about as upsetting. He was faced with a blank wall in a deserted corridor, with a granite-gray statue barely visible at the end. Tom squinted his fathomlessly dark eyes slightly. Though there was nothing apparent but a beige wall, it was emanating obviously great power. As Tom backed away, though straining his eyes for something, it hit him. There, barely distinguishable unless you were looking for it, was a French-door sized space of stark-white wall. Tom smirked at his sudden brilliance, for he was right—something _was _going on here.

He thought he knew what it was. He had heard whispers around the castle. All too true, they were sparse and very far between, but they still existed. The Room of Requirement. Else known as "The Come-And-Go Room". He had always thought they were just rumors; no area actually was present. Yet here, flashing bright before him as though mocking him, was obviously the entrance to the mystifying chamber.

Genius as he was, Tom could not figure out how to get that blank space of white to turn a dark mahogany color, bringing with it a brass handle. He stood there for what must have been hours, though it could have been ten seconds for all he noticed. He was finally getting irritably frustrated at not being able to open the door.

Letting out a yell of rage and aggravation, Tom punched the wall as hard as he could. Barely visibly grimacing (though his eyes told you he was in pain), Tom looked at the space where he should have made a rather large dent in the plaster. Astonishingly though, there was none. At first Tom was even more enraged that no matter how much he wanted to hurt something, it didn't satisfy him. Ignoring, but failing considerably, his massively throbbing and bruising hand, everything around him—all his pain, and time itself—seemed to stop.

Gazing astoundingly at the once-white barrier, he narrowed his eyes at the gateway that had appeared. To his distaste, it was not a clean and polished-looking wooden door; instead a dull, rocky gray, stone archway. It reminded him horribly of the entrance to the Slytherin common rooms. Deciding it was now or never, he nervously looked around the corridor's edge, seeing no one. He stepped inside, his smile turning into an unpleasant sneer. Unknown to him, the supposed desolate hallway was not all that it seemed.

------------------------------

"Un—be—lievable." Hermione accentuated to herself. "I know just about every passageway in this damned castle, and not a single wisp of the person I am looking for."

As she started running through the probabilities of her _not _finding him, she became deathly aware of a sort of misty vapor in the air. Confused, she shook her head, clearing it of the eclipsing perplexity there. Cocking her head slightly to the side, she abruptly recognized where she was. Only—the door was open, and this most _certainly _was not her room.

Careful not to tread on the Dark Magic-radiating stones on the ground, she looked up at gasped. Looming ahead of her, past the storm-impersonating ceiling and impossibly black ground, was a fortress of sorts. Her eyes wider than would be possible, she was in a sort of trance; scared out of her mind, but walking towards it. She blinked, and she was met with a deep, cerulean colored room, the faintest silver trimmings adorning the corners of the ceiling.

Now insanely disconcerted, Hermione was soon startled enormously for the third time in the last twenty minutes. She was now but three feet away from two brightly contrasting cinnamon colored eyes, staring at her with a mix of craving, passion, and disillusion. Smiling seductively, his eyes suddenly flashed red as…

Hermione woke up, scared out of her brilliant mind. Her hands were shaking violently, so much that she couldn't do anything with them. Subconsciously she found that her whole body was covered with a cold, clammy sweat, her voluminous hair sticking to her prickling neck. She was breathing heavily, her heart beating insufferably rapidly as she tried to slow it down, but was immensely unable. Her sparkling chestnut eyes darted around as she took in her recognizable surroundings. The room was dark, yet she had the feeling that she would come to no harm here. Fitfully, restlessly, but dreamlessly, she fell asleep again, though the stale air was pressed in around her.

-----------------------------------

Tom walked and walked and walked, but his search for _some _sign of life was proving fruitless. He stopped and looked around. There were three sounds—Tom's steady but slightly strained breathing, his faster than normal heartbeat, and the quiet buzz of the overhead lights. As he sighed in both frustration and apprehensiveness, he gazed around his surroundings, as he slowly trudged in a circle. Both ends of the hallway seemed to go on for infinite miles.

If he desperately concentrated his eyes on one end of the corridor, then the other, he noticed an impossibly subtle difference. One "exit" was rounded. Eyes and face brightening despite his extreme fatigue, he started sprinting towards that end, though first brandishing his wand.

He had run as hard as his strong but unused muscles would allow. Unable to go any further, he put his hands on his knees, head hung for a moment, then he looked up at where his destination was. Ignoring a particularly annoying bead of sweat slowly making its way down his handsome face, his shoulders slackened in disappointment. Though his body could feel it, the reality was that he was no where near his goal. Wracking his exhausted brain for answers, he finally came across one as he was just about to give up and resignedly accept defeat.

"F—_Finally." _He spluttered in his still staggered breath.

His arm muscles screamed out in agony as he raised his now slippery wand and pointed it at the end of the hallway. _"EXTRAHO SULUM!" _He yelled as loud as he could.

With a pleasant rush of cold wind, it looked as though Tom had Apparated right then and there. The moment he was extricated deliriously forcefully, he collapsed in a blast of frigid wind. His languorous body was convulsing in regular intervals. His head and heart felt like they were about to be annihilated into a billion pieces, he frantically tried to call for help. Him. The famous Tom Riddle. Needing help.

Grudgingly, but irrationally, he refused to believe it, though his body was aching as though it were saying, "Damn your _pride _to hell!". Sucking in a much needed but shuddering breath, he said, "Help."

Unfortunately, no one was around to hear it. Closing his shadowy eyes, he let the concentration wash over his coffee-colored, lavish eyelashes and his tired eyes, and snapped them open with such force he didn't know he had. "_Solacium."_ He cried quietly.

Violently indigo sparks shot out of his wand, exploding with such a volatile force that Tom had to shut his eyes, wanting to cover his head, but his overworked muscles did not seem to function correctly. _"Sometime soon they would come"_, he thought hopefully, _"They have to." _

And with that, he passed out cold on the floor, one small droplet of sweat falling from his soft face onto the unforgiving tile, melting in with the dull gray color.

------------------------------

Hermione woke with a sudden, painful start, the insanely bright sunlight mocking her. She squinted, and reluctantly got up from her warm, inviting bed. She had vaguely became aware of her nightclothes sticking to her skin, as she recalled her dream of the previous night—or nightmare rather. Shivering, she unstuck her clothes and stepped into a bitterly cold shower. Once she got out, she redressed and walked over to her door. The moment she stepped out onto the tile, she noticed a bright, vivid, flashing explosion of light.

Confused and her eyes wide, she ran as fast as she could towards it, ignoring the screams of protest coming from her tired muscles. She skidded to a stop at an abandoned hallway, without believing her eyes. She screamed in both agony and surprise at seeing Tom just lying there. No one heard her, but right now she didn't think she could handle anyone.

She sprinted over to his lifeless body, sweeping a stray strand of hair into the rest of the tangled mess of hair. He was still slightly sweaty, but she paid it no mind as she caressed his face. It was as cold as ice. She shivered violently, wondering horribly whether he was still alive.

Desperately trying to think from her fatigued and awkward surroundings, she was frantically trying to remember the spell. "R—_RENNERVATE!" _she yelled, pointing her slipping wand at his face.

"Mmm…" he grumbled, voice coming in low and tired. He could not lift his heavy eyelids, and he very slowly became aware of the feelings in his feet, then when the tingling sensation reached his ankles, he was overcome with a huge wave of warmth. He gasped as he took in a rush of air, lungs inflating with their sudden power.

He snapped open his eyes, when Hermione's worried face came slowly into focus. She was breathing hard and fast, as she tucked another one of his loose curls from his face. He attempted a smile, but all that came out was a slight movement of his eyebrows, and the strangling feeling of small muscles working in his face.

"Oh my God, Tom!" she cried out in ecstasy. She wrapped her arms around him forcefully, him rigidly protesting underneath her. She pulled away, and said, "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't—I mean—I—" she trailed.

"It—It's fine." He gasped, finally making out comprehensible words. "I'm fine." She smiled.

**I think it's a little longer, but I'm not sure. I tried to extend it, but I'm rather tired right now. I will get another chapter up by maybe tonight or definitely tomorrow. Suggestions, comments, or questions are welcomed, remember.**

**love,**

**luvseanfaris**


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Yay! I got reviews like really soon after I posted! Anyway, I know the last chapter was darker than the others, but this one will be a bit better, I hope. Some quick thanks to: **

**PhanPhic-adict, Mrs Pierre Bouvier** (haha, so we both have a thing for cedric, huh? lol.),** hermionegranger2007** (sorry if it was confusing!)**, Angelic Bladez **(thanks a lot!)**, and Twilight Elf-Maiden**

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"So can I go?" Tom asked Madam Pomfrey anxiously.

He was _tired _of being in that dreadful place. All white and sterile with no company except the sick and wounded, many just mourning and screaming in their sleep. It was rather depressing. Tom had counted—literally—the hours he had been there. It was not like he'd anything better to do anyway. According to him, he had lain in that awfully clean bed (could you even _call _it a bed?), for four days straight now, and frankly, he was getting very, very, bored. And he'd had no visitors. Not even his savior—Hermione. It was like it had happened just an hour ago…

_---Four Days Previously---_

"Oh my God, Tom!" she had cried out, wrapping her arms around him. He coughed from the sudden pressure on his already aching chest. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't—I mean—I—" she trailed.

"It—It's fine." He had gasped, breaths coming in extremely painful intakes. He had never been in this kind of agony before. Never in his wildest dreams. And, quite honestly, he never wanted to experience this again. "I'm fine."

She smiled that beautifully straight smile, and it made him want to return it. However, once he made to go do so, his side cracked excruciatingly, and his face contorted into an almost evil-like grimace. Though that was his only visible sign that he was hurting, Hermione's honey-colored eyes bore into his deep brown ones. He twinged at her overpowering concern, and his eyes started to reflect horribly his emotions. Unfortunately, he didn't have the strength (physical or mental) to shove off his feelings.

After asking him many more times if he was okay, she tried to get him to get up. Obligingly, he made to do so. However, due to his now broken rib and sprained wrist, he could not move very easily. Not to mention his throbbing, merciless migraine mixed with killer muscle cramps. She almost started crying at his condition, and that, more than anything, made him delve into anguish more.

"H—Hermione, stop crying. I'm alright, really. I just need to go to the Hospital Wing. I'll be okay. Stop worrying!" he tried to console her, though with every syllable, his head felt like it shattered again and again.

"I—_hiccup_—know, Tom! I know you'll—_hiccup_—be okay! It's just that I—" she managed to say in between sobs.

Muttering a pain-killing spell (and wondering why he hadn't thought of it before), though with his side still burning, he managed to walk over to her shaking form. "Hermione. Shhh…" he whispered.

She gasped, taking her tear-stained face from her equally wet hands. "I thought you couldn't get up!" she squeaked.

His lips twitched, hers trembling slightly. Ignoring the anguished screeches of remonstration coming from his upper arms, he touched her face with his now steady hand. She visibly shuddered, and somehow that pleased him. He had every intention of making his feelings known to her; goodness knew she probably felt the same way. It was then as if something had worked its way into her brain and she suddenly realized it.

"Oh! Tom! I—We—I have to go!" she said, and with out so much as a glance back, she ran, the only trace of her left was her light cinnamon scent.

_---Present---_

Tom could still feel the warmth of her glowing skin on his hand, though it was in reality no longer there. He wanted that feeling back, much more so than he wanted to be glacial. When she was with him, it was like some sort of electricity sparking in the air; the humidity of it being almost unbearable. Then when she would leave, everything was suddenly dry, eerily silent, and, worst of all, cold.

He shrugged his feelings off; he was going soft. He pulled his perfect lips into a smirk, that part of his face not recently having been used. It felt awkward and wrong to him, for some reason he could not yet fathom in his wildest nightmares. He just about felt like laughing at the absurdity of his situation. Without waiting for Madam Pomfrey's confirmation that he could leave, he strode out the impeccably clean doors with renewed force that shook his previously occupied bed.

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Hermione lay there with her head in her hands, while she silently wept. Her once bright and cheery eyes were now watery with shed and unshed tears, her flawless features marred by her sobbing and heartaches. As she let her tears freely fall, she began to think of how much she really did miss Ron and Harry and even Lavender and Parvati. As she was pondering all of this, she wished she had a Pensieve. Her mind was getting so full of thoughts that she was now starting to share that one particular want of Harry's.

Stubbornly, she realized that there was nothing left for her here. Sure, there was Tom, but after all, she just had an intense attraction for him. It wasn't as if they _loved _each other or anything. And even if she did stay, how would Harry and Ron feel? They would be missing her terribly, probably worried sick by now about her. Whereas if she went back, the only person that might miss her would be Tom. These thoughts were ailing her terribly as she began to develop an erotic, pounding, blazing headache. Hermione's eyes started to well up again, though only one droplet of water fell down her cheek, making it's descent onto her pillow.

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Tom stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall, looking up and around, bewildered. He subconsciously ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. Only five words were running through his mind right now: _I need to find her._ He could scarcely imagine where she could have gotten off to.

"Women are so confusing." He muttered to himself. "One minute they're throwing themselves at you…and the next they're running away, acting as if you're some crazed, deranged murderer." He shook his head in disbelief. "Where to start…"

He bit his lip, wondering if he should perform the spell. No one had done it before, so the effects were inaccurate and not well tested. But he was desperate. "Here goes nothing." He said, toasting an invisible champagne goblet. "_Succurro reperio altum!" _he yelled.

Feeling like he was in the eye of a fierce hurricane, Tom wanted to move out of the way. He didn't like the way the spell was looking. Trouble was, he couldn't travel one step in any direction. His eyes darted helplessly around, waiting for someone…_anyone…_to do something. Funnily enough, nobody seemed to hear him. Internally he was cursing the living daylights out of himself for becoming an ass to her. Not that he wasn't always, but now it mattered for some reason.

It felt as if a raging fire tore through his every fiber of his being, and he wanted to cry out in anguish for the pain was so intense…then it was gone. He was left with a feeling of burning passion—passion that could only be satisfied by one thing. With set determination in his eyes, they were blazing ferociously. The once calm and collected (with occasional outbursts) Tom Riddle was now replaced by an intransigent, steadfast young man with one goal.

This new personality was not visible by any means physically—he was the same on the outside. Same brown, wavy hair…same muscular build…same smarts…even the same fiery attitude. The only thing that led you to his changed soul was his eyes. Yes, the dark chocolate colored pools of beauty that had everyone attracted to him. The eyes that would someday lose their ingenious quality and turn crimson. But most importantly…the eyes that told you Tom Riddle was only human. No matter how tough and rigid the exterior, on the inside, he was still the same.

He knew he had it in him. All along. He had just needed some sort of push or encouragement. The spell had done that for him. It gave him a feeling of power…like he could do absolutely anything. Like he could get whatever the hell he wanted. He felt…_seditious. _He walked purposefully towards one corridor which had a flickering light bulb over one of the ceilings; he walked as if he knew where he was going.

Somewhere, out in the near distance, he heard a scream, and, snapping foolishly out of his entrapment, he jerked his head towards the sound. A sound that was oddly familiar…

**I'm proud of myself. I got two decently-lengthed chapters out in one day! Ahem…anyway, you know what to do. Tell me what your opinions are, yadda yadda yadda. I'll leave you to your imaginations, and I'll update as soon as I can!**


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Thanks y'all for your awesome reviews! Especially to: Angelic Bladez (**thanks SOO much as always!**), padfootbabeinblack (**thanks a lot and waffle is fine as long as its not in excess:)**, Twilight Elf-Maiden, Sadistically Insane (**you never fail to make me happy!**), sweetessence03, hermionegranger2007 (**yes, he is mighty fine :)**, Mrs Pierre Bouvier (**yay Cedric!**), Pozest-Illusion (**Hermione didn't go back in time yet**), and BlueEyedFairy.**

**Wow…lots of people…well, here's the next chapter anyway!

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Tom ran harder and faster than he ever would have thought possible to the scream. If he was right, he had to get to her. If she wasn't alright—he wouldn't know what he would do. He ran through countless hallways and past numerous portraits who all called after him wondering what he was doing; he hardly knew where he was going. Only that he had to get to where she was.

"H—Hermione!" he shouted, hoping to get some glimpse or whisper of where she was. "HERMIONE!"

He sprinted past another corridor, but something caught his peripheral vision. A splurge of color and a flickering light. Breathing hard but ignoring the sharp pain going through his side, he backtracked and followed the hallway, only to skid to a stop at the sight beholding his eyes.

"H—Hermione?" he whispered, looking down and walking slowly to the fallen form.

She looked up, her face shining with sweat, and wisps of her hair clinging to her face. "Tom? W—What are you doing here?" she panted, her breath coming in tight gasps.

Tom's eyes widened at what had befallen her. Large shards of glass had fallen into her side, her blood trickling onto her robes, dripping onto the tile and forming arrays of shining, scarlet arcs. Her features were now paling horribly, and her eyes were no longer bright and glittering, but dull and lifeless. Her lids were fluttering, but she struggled to hold them open. He had no idea exactly how long she had been there.

"Hermione! D—Don't—whatever you—don't—please, I—Hermione, you—you can't—" he stuttered.

"T—Tom, I—" she struggled, arms collapsing underneath her.

"HERMIONE!" he yelled in anguish. He ran to her side, paying no mind to the crimson blood seeping into his robes.

He carefully but quickly pulled out the glass, flinging it to the side so it emitted an eerie clinking sound. After all were taken out, he pulled up her shirt, only for him to look away. Her pale skin was now stained with red lines, all dripping from the cuts left from the sharp implements. His hands shaking violently, but him concentrating on the meticulous task at hand, he took out his wand, not caring that it now bore crimson lines forever etched into the dark wood.

"R—R—_Redintegro_." He said shakily, holding his wand over her wound and tracing them delicately.

Slowly, a bright emerald colored stream of light started to mend her gashes. His breath still coming in short and staggered gasps, he repeated the spell and movements four times, with each time her injuries lessening. He did it all one more time, but the green light would not emanate from his wand. Cursing loudly, he tried to concentrate more, but the spell would just not work.

Checking her pulse and feeling an irregular but beating heartrate, he sighed in relief. She was alive. Her coloring in her face was still deathly pale and it was glistening with sweat, but he still couldn't help but feel immensely grateful. Almost automatically, he brushed her chestnut hair from her face, and, lifting her head up into his hands, he gave the smallest of smiles. Even when by her facial expression and appearance gave the impression that she was dead, he was glad that at least he knew she wasn't taken from him yet.

"Hermione…you—you're going to be okay…everything's going to be okay…" he murmured to her.

He picked her up in his arms, all too aware of the blood marring his handsome looks and his white shirt. Looking back at the scene, he shuddered, still not knowing what had happened, but at this moment not really caring. She was still unconscious in his arms, though he knew she would be alright. She was surprisingly light even with her robes on, and, truthfully, he was appreciative of it, because he was still recovering from his two broken ribs.

Not believing his doomed luck, he did not answer any of the hundreds of questions fired at him from boy, girl, and teacher alike. All were gawking at the incredible sight: the incredibly handsome Tom Riddle who had never been seen admiring a girl, carrying some unknown young woman through the halls, and adding the fact that they were both covered in disgustingly excessive blood.

Finally stopping outside of the Hospital Wing, he pondered for a moment at how he would open the door, but settled on kicking it open, albeit with difficulty. Wincing at the red and brown shoeprint he left on the entry, he lay her on the nearest bed, still hurting inside from both her lifeless body, and his aching side. Looking around frantically for the nurse, he noticed one or two of the other patients staring intently at him, to which he gave them a murderous look. They all recoiled, and turned on their sides, which he would have smirked at had the situation been less grim.

"Oh my goodness, child! What happened?" questioned an incalculably concerned Madam Pomfrey.

"Poppy—" Tom panted, holding his side, and at the same time brushing back his fallen hair. "It—It's Hermione. Sh—She—She's hurt! I performed a Healing charm on her, but you should look her over."

"Mr. Riddle! What happened, dear?" she asked again, though bustling hurriedly over to Hermione.

"I—I don't know! I heard her shriek and ran over. All I know is that she had shards of glass stuck in her side. I took them out and retraced the wounds with the charm, then brought her here. She will be okay, won't she?" he more stated than asked.

After knitting her brow and studying Hermione's side with sensitivity, she replied. "Y—Yes, Tom. I believe she will. But, I think, had you not performed the Healing spell and brought her straight to me, she would have lost much more blood. She could have died, Mr. Riddle." Poppy said gravely, looking at him with worried blue eyes.

Tom's widened with shock and amazement, but nodded slowly. "Oh—oh, well—well, good then—I suppose. How long do you think she'll be out?"

"Hmmm…" Madam Pomfrey said studiously. "I would say about a week, just to be sure. She looked up at him questionably, but with a sadness that he could not quite identify, but he wasn't sure he really liked it.

"A week?" he replied helplessly.

"Yes, Tom. A week." She answered snappishly. She pursed her lips and looked at him expectantly.

"S—Sorry. I—I just…well, you know…"

"Yes. I'm sure I do." She said with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "Now. Let's get you looked at, Mr. Riddle."

She sat him down on the edge of Hermione's bed; he was too tired to resist…much. "I'm _fine!" _he persisted, shrugging off her arm.

"You are most certainly not fine!" Pomfrey exclaimed with a huff. "Strong and _stubborn_ as you are, you have suffered immense emotional and physical pain, young man. Now stop fidgeting and lie down over in that bed next to Ms. Hermione over there. _And don't you dare get up, Mr. Riddle." _She emphasized, almost scarily.

He clenched his teeth, willing his murderous glare on anyone that would see it. Much as he hated to admit it, he was insanely tired. Determined not to show any weakness, but at the same time abiding her commands, Tom sat up on the bed, leaning against the cold metal frame. Soon, however, sleep overcame him, and even without a Dreamless Sleep potion, he was passed out with hardly a glimmer of an image.

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Tom awoke with a sudden start, only to find that he could not see a single thing. Heart starting to beat faster, he looked around, then settled on a supernatural glow from the giant window to his right. Breathing strictly but deeply, he remembered the events of last night. Slowly, as if in a dream, he stole a glance at the bed next to him. He smiled sincerely, the moonlight echoing off of his pearlescent skin, giving him a ghostly but empyrean glow.

His dark eyes widening at the slightest of stirs coming from the bed next to him, his lips parted in astonishment. "T—Tom?" Hermione whispered unsteadily, her eyes still closed, the phosphorescent light shining off of her splayed-out hair.

Tom swallowed, and despite his best efforts not to disturb her, he could not help his urges for her. "Hermione?" he breathed back. "A—Are you okay?"

He kicked himself for asking such a stupid question, but to his amazement, she smiled, her teeth glimmering in the dim light. "I'm as well as can be expected, Tom." She answered formally.

"If—If you don't mind my asking…" he prompted. "What happened? All I heard was your scream and then I ran here as fast as I could, but you almost immediately passed out." He said, almost excited at the prospect of her being okay and knowing what happened.

"Well…first off…thank you for rescuing me…again." She said apologetically. He nodded in acceptance, but also in wanting her to go on. "I came out of my room from crying—"

She stopped, and even though Tom could not see it, he could tell her pale cheeks were gaining a reddish glow creep into them. He raised his eyebrow and smirked in a knowing way, but remained silent. He could tell she was starting to get annoyed at his smugness, but he only smirked wider at the prospect of her getting so cute when she was angry.

"_Yes?" _he prompted, and although it was not spelled out, Hermione could distinguish a laughing, confident tone in his deep voice.

Smiling heavily, Hermione gasped at the blinding pain coming from her side. Wincing horribly and noticeably, she felt like crying out in anguish, but somehow could not do so. Her mind was so fogged up by now that she almost could not distinguish which events were real and which ones were dreamt. She feared if she did not relay them to Tom, then she would lose all sense of perception and reality. She didn't even question where she was, though she could kind of figure it out.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, suddenly urgent and, with the light dancing off of his eyes, a look of worry was etched inside. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Tom." She accentuated, hearing his shoulders relax into the crinkling of the hospital pillows. She continued. "Anyway, I came out and then I started to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I mean, I missed them but then I thought of how I would miss you and this place, and then I don't know. It was all so confusing! It's kind of hard to remember exactly what happened, but I must have either done some sort of spell or just began crying again…I don't know…or maybe it just happened. Then I heard something glass-like burst above me, but before I could see what it was, I felt this stab of torturous agony grip my side, and before I knew it, I had screamed then collapsed on the ground."

She felt her side throb painfully, but grit her teeth to continue. "I was in a sort of state of deliriousness by then. Shapes were twisting and turning and colors were blending all around me and I couldn't distinguish what was what anymore. I was afraid I was going to die, Tom! I couldn't breathe well—my breaths were coming in short heaves, and every time my heart would beat or I would inhale, my whole body felt like it was convulsing and spattering with pain. Suddenly I was flooded with all sorts of images. Images of Ron and Harry, my parents, and even Lavender and Ginny were flashing almost simultaneously in my head. Then one stood out. Know who it was, Tom? It was you. I knew I had to hold on for my life. There was too much to live for. Some kind of force overcame me, and suddenly the shapes and objects were slowly coming into focus, albeit still a bit hazy. Then I felt these things being taken from my body, and it felt like all there was were holes. And then even the excruciating stings I felt were gradually lessening. The last thing I remember before blacking out was a deep, calming voice telling me everything was going to be okay. I know that voice belonged to you, Tom. You saved me. How can I ever repay you? I am so sorry for everything I have done lately. I've completely messed up your life and you don't even know who I am or where I have come from. No questions asked from you. Just undying emotions, whether they're affection or hurtfulness or anguish or hate. I'm so, so, so sorry, Tom." She finished, now starting to break out into wracking sobs, not caring about the ever-mounting, burning feeling near her ribs.

Tom smiled for the first time during her recollections. "Hermione." He said simply.

She looked up at him through distorted vision, feeling the droplets of water grace her cheeks. All he was doing was smiling both cockily and adoringly at her. She felt her own lips twitch with what she knew could turn into a grin if she wasn't careful. She vaguely realized she was still crying helplessly, but for joy or sadness she did not know.

Tom gazed down at the plain flooring. "Hermione, it's me who should be sorry." Silencing her no doubt protest with a look, he persisted. "No, hush for a minute. I let my emotions get too caught up in our little whirlwind…consanguinity shall I put it. I've led you on without meaning to, and there are so many things you don't yet know about me. I'm not who you think I am, Hermione Granger. I'm definitely not who you think I am. And for all that, I am terribly sorry."

To Tom's amazement, she shook her head and laughed thickly through her tears. "Tom. If you only knew exactly how much I know about you. I don't exactly know how I'm supposed to tell you this, but…I'm guessing the bluntest way is the way you would want it?" she asked, but knew the answer already. He twisted his face into a look of confusion but interest, sealing her assumption. "You—you see, Tom…I—I'm from the future."

She winced as she dared herself to look up at his face, bracing herself for his outrage, much like she prepared herself with Myrtle. He didn't say anything, and his face was impassive. She would have questioned him if it were not for the two things that led you into his soul. His eyes. They were telling her that at first he had felt uncertainty and wondering if she was still hallucinating from the aftermath of her trauma. Then they changed to one of conflagration and fury at his feeling of her being deceptive and conniving. Lastly, as she thought he detected a flicker of softening from his handsomely etched features, his abyssal and desirously hazel eyes telling her that he didn't care. Not a look of indifference or curtness, no. Like it didn't matter where, who, or how she came to meet him; she was just Hermione.

He could not say why his emotions had changed so rapidly and fast. It was as if some wave of passion had erupted over him, concealing all past hurtful events and feelings. Instead it focused on his arduous zeal for her and the part of him that had melted into a stream of compassion the moment he set eyes on her. All he knew was that no matter what time or place she came from—past, present, or future—she would still be the girl he got to know and to feel adoration for.

"T—Tom?" she asked carefully. "You—You're looking kind of distant. I know this has come as a huge shock to you, but I—" She stopped at the heartwarming smile he had given her; one she knew would cease to exist and never surface again in her time. Her eyes started to well up again just with the thought.

"Shhh." He replied, holding a finger to his sumptuous lips. "Haven't you realized yet, Hermione?" At her face of bewilderment, he furthered, "It _doesn't matter_ who you were, just that you're here. Now, from the short time I have gotten to know you, I know that you would want me to know exactly why you are here and your ulterior motive. Yes, I know there is one, for no one in their sane minds would come back here of all times. I know and I have sensed that almost from the instant I met you; you were internally waging war against yourself as to your next actions. Even if you did not fully realize it yet, I knew. And much as I hated to admit it, it pained me inside also. For you are special, Hermione Granger. You have a fiery, intense passion flaming inside of you that you cannot wait to unleash on a subject that gets you excited or angry. You are extremely bright and intelligent and know the answer to everything. You are not particularly athletic, but will indulge in the best Quidditch game now and again. You are loved in different ways by all, whether it be in friendship, respect, love, or, abstract as it may sound, in hatred. You don't care about style or your looks, but you will, on occasion, get dressed up and impress and astonish everyone with your new but always there good looks. I know all this, yes, from the week I have known you. You see, I am very perceptive at times. So, whenever you wish to tell me the reason you are here is fine by me, or you don't have to tell me at all. But I am intrigued by your presence here, and perhaps whichever way I figure out your purposes for coming here, it will most definitely be interesting and no doubt it will be difficult. I must give you congratulations, however. You are a hard woman to figure out, Granger. That is what I know most of all. A swirl of passions and emotions, but human in the end, just like everyone else. And for that, I must commend you in the deepest way possible, for no one have I ever had the delight to meet has caused me this long for me to describe and calculate them."

He bowed his head slightly in respect for her, though his dark eyes never left her ginger ones.

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**Damn that was long. I could not stop writing, even though it is about 3:45 a.m. here. I hope you all liked it, and I'll try to make the chapters as long as this one, though I don't know if I can write as much. So, you know what to do (optionally), and I'll see you soon!**


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Damn! I was overcome with reviews! A lot of them had questions about the story, so after this chapter I'll post an faq kind of thing. I hope that'll clear things up. So, for now, I'm happy you guys liked that chapter and I hope you'll like this one!

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Hermione and Tom had fallen asleep closely following their confessions, though with clouds of guilt and suspicion hanging over them constantly. Tom, for the first time in his life, slept soundlessly, with the occasional switching of positions. Hermione, on the other hand, had the most restless night she could ever remember. Constantly twisting and turning, paying no mind to the flaring pains shooting through her side, but to the looming nightmare surrounding her.

_The cold, merciless laugh filled the air, shattering all hopes of redemption or survival. "You think you can outwit me, boy?" Voldemort cackled. "You think you can outsmart the great Lord Voldemort?"_

_Hermione watched helplessly, her hands and feet bound by tightening ropes, as she was held by a strong Death Eater; if she was not mistaken, it was none other than Antonin Dolohov, the one who had cursed her in the Department of Mysteries. She was gagged so carelessly that she could feel the rough fabric cutting into her flesh. Next to her was Ron, who was similarly imprisoned by Avery._

"_Harry!" Hermione desperately wanted to shout, but all that was coming out of her was a muffled shriek, and for all the good it would do, might as well have remained unsaid._

_Voldemort again laughed his trademarked high-pitched screech, nearby crows cawing and fluttering out of sight. "Come on, boy, let us finish this! You have nowhere to go, Harry Potter. No one to run to. You come out now and your little friends here might be spared. You come and join me, Potter, and I will consider sparing _you_. Fight like a man, Potter! Your dear old Mudblood-loving father wouldn't want you to crumple like your mother, would he? Join me or DIE, Harry!"_

_Hermione started crying for Harry, her tears being absorbed by the dirty cloth occupying her mouth. Voldemort was paying no attention to her or Ron, and the Death Eaters holding them captive were laughing just as ruthlessly as Voldemort. Straining her eyes to look at Ron, she found his face was screwed up into a look of utmost hatred; a look she knew could deliver the most painful Cruciatus Curse ever recorded._

_Harry came out from behind his gravestone cover—the tomb of his mother. He cast a saddened look at the writing._

LILY POTTER

1960-1981

Beloved mother and wife

_Voldemort laughed horribly at Harry's face, only making Hermione both want to cry and to kill him more. "How sweet! Even in imminent death, _The _Harry James Potter looks upon the wreckage of his filthy Muggle mother. How heartwarming."_

_Harry fixed Voldemort with a scary, murderous look, that made Hermione have to cast away her gaze. His beautiful green eyes bore into Voldemort's red ones, without even a flicker of fear dissolved in them. "You want me, Voldemort? You've got me."_

_Hermione tried to shake her head 'no', but the ropes binding her were too tight. "HARRY! NO!" she tried to yell in warning, but to no avail._

"Sectumsemp—" _Harry tried, but it was blocked by an effortless wave of Voldemort's wand._

_He cackled again, this time in an even more mocking tone. "That's the best you can do?"_

"_And you, Voldemort? Not even wanting to fight? All talk and no action, I see. What a way to find more followers." Harry said sarcastically._

_Hermione's eyes widened as she realized what was going to happen. Voldemort looked up at Harry with a frighteningly sinister smirk, and raised his wand. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" he yelled._

_Harry's emerald eyes were open in shock, and though all of the light had gone out, Hermione could still detect a faint flicker of the laughing, confident, loyal Harry that she had grown to love to pieces. _

"_NOOOOOO!" Hermione yelled painfully as she started weeping over her helpless friend._

"My dear! A—Are you alright, dearie?" Madam Pomfrey came running over to Hermione's writhing form.

Hermione was covered in a cold sweat, her bedsheets sticking to her, the blankets twisted and encasing her. "Not Harry! NOO! Kill me instead! NOT HARRY!" Hermione screamed, squirming more.

Tom suddenly woke up, looking at the bed adjacent to his. Face contorted into one of both insane concern and wonder, he could hardly speak. "Wha—What happened?" he asked Madam Pomfrey.

"You tell me, Mr. Riddle!" Pomfrey snapped, not looking up at him once. "Hermione, dear? Hermione, sweetie, it was a dream."

Hermione was still twisting and moaning, ignoring Madam Pomfrey's actions. "Noo…not…not Harry…Voldemort, please!" she muttered.

Tom's insides suddenly froze and his brown eyes no longer held concern, but shock and disorientation. How did she know? She _couldn't. _Right? But she had said she was from the future…but it was just impossible! No one knew that name except for a couple of his "closest" friends. It was starting to severely unsettle him now.

Hermione suddenly shot her eyes open, her body stock-still, but her heart and breaths coming in rapidly and staggeringly. She had a look of utter fear and sadness written over her face, and her eyes darted around powerlessly. It had seemed so real…the nightmare…was Harry okay? He had to be. He was with Dumbledore. And Dumbledore would never let anything happen to him…ever.

Her gasps of air were very slowly coming in at regular intervals, though her heart continued to pound inexorably. She finally settled her gaze on the ceiling, though she could only look into a pair of worried blue-gray eyes. Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was okay. She wasn't in the graveyard. She was at Hogwarts.

"Hermione? Dear? You alright, sweetie?" Madam Pomfrey asked tentatively.

Hermione didn't feel fit to answer. "I—I'm—" she stuttered.

Her eyelids fluttering, her head fell back onto the pillow, and she fell down asleep again; though this time with no horrifying nightmare.

* * *

Tom continued to gaze at her in astonishment. She was a maze of colors and feelings and emotions and actions, and, frankly, it was frightening him. Yes, he who was supposed to be invincible and indifferent to those inferior to him. Some might say he had an egoistical disorder, but he merely stated that '_Those who do not realize their true calling hold naught but empty lives.' _

His mind was torn, though he realized that this was the best way for all. Casting a Silencing Charm on his body, he slowly got up from his bed and walked out the Hospital Wing door. Though not without first sparing a moment or two to watch her sleep, her delicate features again illuminated in the dim moonlight. And then the room was suddenly ghostly still.

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Hermione shut her brown eyes tighter, in effort to block out the effervescent sunlight positively streaming through the window. Fatigued, but realizing her attempts were not going to work, she opened her eyes, squinting from the bright light. She could still feel the gashes in her side, but the pain was a dull, ignorant one. However, looking around the room, she frowned, her eyes squinted slightly, and her lips formed into a fine line. Something was missing.

She suddenly sat up in panic. "Tom!" she called quietly, looking over to the unkempt bed next to her. He must have left during the night.

Immediately, someone came hurriedly through the door on Hermione's left, but Hermione sagged her shoulders, for it was not who she wanted it to be. "Oh, excellent, dear, you're awake! You were positively scaring everyone last night, sweetheart! Oh, but none more so, I think, than young Mr. Ridd—" she stopped, her face growing into one of anxiety, and, for a reason Hermione didn't know, disappointment.

"Pomfrey?" Hermione asked questionably. "May I ask what is the matter?"

"Oh. Yes. Well. Nothing, dear, nothing you need to worry about. Now just lay back down and I'll get you something to dull the pain there." She replied absentmindedly.

Hermione slowly relaxed onto the pillows, but started as she heard a voice from the bed next to Tom's. "Don't worry about him." The voice said.

Hermione tilted her head barely to the left. It was a low voice, almost reminiscent of Tom's, though vaguely different. Like the man had had either true sadness or horror in his past…or both. She couldn't, however, see his face, for the shadow of the plant by the windowsill was cast over him.

"Ex—Excuse me?" Hermione asked, enthralled at this stranger talking to her. She turned on her good side to get a better look at him. He didn't move.

"I said," he continued, his voice patient, "don't worry about him. Tom Riddle…is one of the most accomplished people I've had the great—ahem, _fortune_—to meet. And no one would want a pretty little thing like you to get worked up over someone like him. You know, you slowly lose the ability to laugh by worrying so much? It wouldn't suit you."

Surprisingly, Hermione was flattered by this obvious yet hidden compliment. She felt herself blushing. "I—I—yeah, sorry. I just—I get that way about things sometimes. It's a quirk of mine that unfortunately must stick with me."

Even through the shadow, Hermione could see he was smiling. Astonishingly enough, she could see the whiteness of his teeth glistening in the penetrable sunlight. He laughed. It was different than anything she had heard before. A combination of happiness and humor, though you could tell there was some disappointment hidden inside. It was an odd mix, she admitted, but she was pretty sure she liked it.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I've forgotten my manners. I'm Hermione Granger." Hermione said, though refraining to hold out her hand for they were twelve feet apart.

He turned to her, revealing the most astonishingly green eyes she had ever seen. Greener than Harry's. Hermione felt herself gasp despite everything. "Antares Black."

Hermione swallowed hard, her breath coming in sharp seizures again. "Antares Black…" she breathed in horror and recognition. "I know that name…he—Sirius!" The truth sinking in horribly fast, she wracked her brain for the answer. Bellatrix Lestrange. Her maiden name was Black.

She vividly remembered a day in Number 12 Grimmauld Place when Harry had mentioned Sirius's family tree in one of the rooms they had been cleaning. 'Toujours Pur' it had read. From the little French Hermione had taken, she suddenly remembered what it meant. 'Always Pure'. She scoffed at the thought and what that simple belief had done to her and, most of all, Harry.

She remembered wanting desperately to go and look at the tapestry, for family history had always interested her. As she read down the tree and came upon names she recognized, she either snorted or grimaced or screwed up her face in anger at the names she came upon. Lucius Malfoy…Narcissa Black…Draco Malfoy…Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange…Bellatrix Black…they all frightened her.

The name of the man she had just met stirred something in her memory. She hadn't focused on the name directly, for it meant nothing at the time. Now she couldn't have seen it more clearly in her mind. The name 'Antares Black' connected with a double golden line to 'Cassiopeia Apocrypha'. Sickeningly, Hermione saw a single gold line from the joint leading to the name 'Bellatrix Black'. And that was as far into the story as Hermione wanted—or needed—to remember.

She tore herself from that horrible night in the Department of Mysteries to look at him. What infuriated her more was that Antares and Bellatrix looked remarkably alike. They both had a beautiful facial structure, with tanned skin, dark brown, thick hair, and a full, perfectly-shaped mouth. The only jarring difference was that while he had gorgeous, forest-green eyes, she had dark, obliterating, merciless brown ones.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to apologize for tuning him out. Even if he hadn't necessarily committed any crime (though he damned well could have), he was still _related _to a murderous, self-centered witch who would kill her own cousin without a spare thought. His eyes pored into her, making her feel uneasy, though telling her everything would turn out right in the end. Strangely enough, this was the exact same effect that looking directly into Harry's eyes had on her.

"It's alright, Miss Granger. I have that effect on people." He said. Hermione couldn't figure out whether he was being cocky or just confident.

"And what are you meaning by that, Mr. Black?" she asked playfully, mimicking his formalities.

He laughed again. "Nothing. So, if you don't mind my asking, what exactly is your relationship with Riddle? He's not a very easy guy to get along with, if you know what I mean." Antares said with a hint of cynicism.

"As a matter of fact, I do mind!" Hermione snapped acidly. "Our relationship cannot be defined by a name, and that is all you need to know, Black!"

He wasn't fazed in the least bit. Only seemingly amused by her outburst. "Yes, well, I apologize for upsetting you. And I am leaving with you my request that you forgive me." He said with regret and sincerity.

Hermione blinked at his politeness. Either this was some low, diabolical scheme he had set up as his future Death Eater profession, or he was just being nice. "Yes, well, fine." She settled, though could not help but feel a bit of guilt washing over her at her apparent bluntness.

"So, uh, can I ask what you are in for?" she asked politely.

His eyes flashed venomously with hatred and loathing, but it was gone after a moment. "Ah. Yes, back to me. Let's just say it was a misfortunate…_accident_…on my part involving three broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and a few deep abrasions here and there." He said nonchalantly.

Hermione's mind was absolutely reeling with possibilities at what—or who—could have happened to him. "Sounds painful. So I take it you're in seventh year, too?" she asked for lack of conversation topics.

"Yeah." He answered with a grin. "Yeah, I am. Been fun, though. You know, I've noticed you haven't indulged much information with anyone so far. Any particular reason, Granger?"

She was surprised at his abrupt thirst for her past. "Hmm…well, yes, there's one big reason that comes to my mind." She said ambiguously.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

She shook her head playfully. "I haven't told Riddle, and I'm not about to tell you."

Her eyes widened at her mistake, and she was chagrined to notice that he put on an obvious smirk that she could see through his now half-visible face. "Ah hah." He said triumphantly. "Been a Black tradition for years. Through some way or another we find out what we need to know. So, are you planning on telling me anything else about yourself?"

She shot him a dirty look as she shook her head slowly twice. "Not before you tell me."

He nodded his head slightly in agreement. "Fine. Name: Antares Nebadon Black. Age: 17. Born: a long ways away from here. Parents: Persephone and Circinus Black. Sibling: a brother named Avior. House: Slytherin, obviously. Occupation: Student, Captain, and Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, at your service, Miss." He recited.

Hermione was impressed. Though it was nothing special, she was still surprised that he had told her his most immediate information when they had met but 20 minutes ago. She smiled. "Hermione Jane Granger. Age: 16. Born: in a city you wouldn't recognize. Parents: Cedric and Lea Granger. Siblings: none, though two best friends who might as well be my siblings. House: Gryffindor without a doubt. Occupation: Student, Head Girl, and 'Insufferable know-it-all' as is known to everyone else. Pleased to meet you." she reflected.

He smirked—though it was almost a smile—as he continued to stare interestingly into Hermione's amber eyes. Completely against her will, she utterly melted in his brilliant gaze.

* * *

**Well, there you go. Chapter 15 (are we there already? damn). I want to add that i took painstakingtime and researched constellations on the internet for sirius's uncle's name. i also made up any other unfamiliar names, and could not help myself in naming Hermione's dad Cedric. :)I'm sorry I obviously haven't been clear in my chapters, so right below this note I've made up an f.a.q. section. Again, I'm so sorry! But I hope you liked this chapter.**

**Oh! Thanks to: Angelic Bladez (**as always**), sweet-essence03 (**wow, thank you SOOOO much! Yeah, I've had that Tom fantasy also…**), Monica, howrude2u, .D.i.S.c.O.n.N.e.C.t.T.e.D.d.O.t. (**even though I didn't really like your review :( **), hiya, hermionegranger2007 (**as always**), Mrs Pierre Bouvier, and Twilight Elf-Maiden.

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**Q. Why did Tom collapse, where was he, and how did Hermione find him?**

**A. **I'm sorry for not specifying. Tom went into the Room of Requirement, hoping to find Hermione, but it was not at all like he expected. He stepped inside of the stone archway, only to be faced with another corridor. The door sealed behind him, so he was forced to keep walking. He finally got tired, looked around, and, at one end of the hallway saw a rounded exit. This would be the archway he entered from. So, he ran towards it for a while, but it did not seem to be getting any closer (because this is magic, y'all!). He cast the "Extraho Sulum" spell, which in effect Apparated him to outside the door to the Room of Requirement. Only this spell (since you can't Apparate inside Hogwarts) has a side effect—it makes you insanely tired and can even, depending on where you landed, cause injuries. Which is where Tom's broken ribs and sprained wrist came from.

Hermione found him because he had then performed the "Solacium" spell, which alerted the person in the closest vicinity to him to that person's presence. Hermione happened to be that person, so she ran to help him, and, ultimately, did. Sorry for not spelling this all out in the chapters! I really, really, really am!

**Q. Does Hermione plan to help him? Because it seems their meetings are random.**

**A. **Again, I apologize. Yes, she will help him, obviously, since this is their fic. I've been a bit slower in her assisting him than I meant to, and I feel bad about it because I do not want this one to go on forever. I wont tell you guys everything, just that this chapter and the next will be turning points, so to speak, in this story.

**Q. You said your story was "Definitely not cliché, but so far it seems so and it's misleading. Can you at least change your summary?**

**A. **Yes, I'm sorry it appears that way. I plan to make it different very soon, but I'll admit, I suppose when you are writing your own story you become a bit oblivious to a 3rd person view. For that I'm sorry, and if you would like to not even start or to discontinue reading, I'll understand, but I want to continue. So, I'm sorry for the seeming repetitiveness, but you don't have to mention it again, seeing as how I've heard it.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Thank-yous to my readers at the end…sorry for taking so long, but here's chapter 16!

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_Flashback_

_He smirked—though it was almost a smile—as he continued to stare interestingly into Hermione's amber eyes. Completely against her will, she utterly melted in his brilliant gaze.

* * *

_

It was as if something had zapped Hermione's brain for a second. It hurt like hell, but it must have worked, because it alerted her to what she was doing. Smiling in what probably looked like a flirtatious way to _Sirius Black's uncle_. This was getting way too out of hand.

But, besides all that, she took particular interest again in his astonishingly green eyes. They clashed interestingly with his darker-than-charcoal-black hair and they stuck out in a manner so that they were the first you would notice about him. It was odd, Hermione realized, that while Antares had these magnificent eyes, his nephew had emotionless, fearful, impossibly dark brown eyes which would frighten anyone. Hermione wondered vaguely how recessive the green must have been in Sirius's family. For, Hermione had noticed that everyone she had met out of his relatives had been darkly proportioned. Bellatrix had the same coloring Sirius did, Sirius's mother, even though she was in portrait, was gloomily tanned, and no one had ever come across the possibility that someone might have green, blue, or even hazel eyes.

"Like what you see, Granger?"

Antares's voice alerted her out of her trance. "Huh?"

He smirked knowingly. "I asked if you like what you see." He repeated, almost disgustingly patiently.

Hermione blushed. "Oh—um—no—I, I mean—you have very—well, I—not like _that_—but, I—" she spluttered horribly.

Unfortunately, Antares didn't come to her rescue until he realized she would not become comprehensible anytime soon. "Yeah. Got it. So where did you come from exactly? Because, for one, I've never seen you around, and Riddle has never taken a liking to anyone in this school. Therefore, you must be a transfer. From where?" he asked curiously, but manipulatively.

"I—" Hermione started, but relaxed and got a suspicious glint in her eye, "—that is for me to know and you to never find out, Antares."

He shuddered for a reason Hermione didn't know yet. "Please don't call me that." He pleaded.

Hermione was genuinely perplexed. "Well, that's your name isn't it?"

"Of course…it's just…my grandmother had a thing for constellations and persuaded everyone in my family to name their kids after certain ones and I ended up with this." He said unceremoniously. Hermione nodded slowly in both confusion but wanting him to continue. "Anyway, I'm not ever referred to as 'Antares' except by my mom and my grandmother."

Hermione smiled sweetly. "So what would you like me to call you then?"

He looked at her, unblinkingly for a second. "Andy."

She screwed up her face in consideration. "Andy…" she muttered. "Hmm…I'm not sure it suits you."

"What do you mean?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, it's just it sounds so…so…so _plain."_

"_And…"_

"Well, well, nothing, I guess. It's just that Antares sounds so original and enthralling, and Andy is just…Andy."

"Way to go state the obvious, Granger. That's the point." He explained, but looking at her bemused expression, he elaborated. "I'm tired of having to tell people to pronounce it right. 'Not An-tairs,' I would say exasperatingly, 'An-_tare-eez.' _It gets tiring after a while."

"Believe it or not, I've had to tell people to say mine correctly also. 'Her-my-oh-knee, not Her-me-own.' I know how you feel. I was just saying it seems odd for you. But if that's what you wish, then I will oblige." She said with a mock bow.

"So, uh, _Andy," _Hermione accentuated, "were you ever planning on telling me what happened to you to get you in here?"

His apple-colored eyes flickered for a moment, and Hermione was afraid he would go on a tirade, or else ignore her question. She was surprised. He swallowed, seemingly contemplating his answer. "What do you know about werewolves?"

Hermione frowned charily. "Werewolves?" she blinked a couple of times in wonder. "Well, a fair bit. I mean, well, I've known one actually, but he was quite tame." She explained, fondly thinking of Lupin.

"But you also know most of them are rather vicious?"

"Of course." Hermione struggled.

"I don't suppose you know who…who Fenrir Greyback is, do you?"

Hermione's blood froze in her veins, and she felt like she could not breathe. Her eyes started to glass over as she stared at him. She saw his startlingly green eyes waver with concern, but she was rather caught up in her own thoughts. She thought horrifyingly of the night of the Lighting-Struck Tower and of how Lupin told everyone Greyback was the one that had bitten him and Bill also. She honestly hadn't expected to hear of him again.

"I—I've h-heard of h-him." She said, stuttering, but with hate etched in her face. He was just about as close to Voldemort as was physically possible.

He creased his forehead in puzzlement, but it was quickly gone. "Yes, well, then you also know that he is one to have…prodigious strength?"

"Yes."

"He's the reason I'm stuck in this wretched place."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat again, as she gaped at him. He wasn't a werewolf, was he? "Y—You're not a-a—"

He laughed pitifully. "No, I'm not a werewolf, —" Hermione quietly let out her breath, "—but I did get thrown around a fair bit. Hence the broken ribs."

He winced slightly, and Hermione softened in sympathy. She decided now wasn't the exact time to ask him exactly _why _he had met Greyback in the first place. "Yes, well, I—I'm sorry. I—I didn't know. How are you holding up?"

"Don't be sorry. I'm alright, just a bit sore. And bored of being here. Two weeks in a too-sterile hospital room can get a bit depressing."

She nodded in understanding. She was already getting jaded with the place, and she had only been here two days. "Yeah. So, anything else I should know about you?"

* * *

Tom stood impatiently at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, seemingly waiting for someone. He was getting rather bored and impatient; he felt like he had been standing for hours. Checking the time again on the huge clock outside Hogwarts, he found out he had, in fact, been waiting that long. Disgusted, he was about to head off again and get his revenge later, when he saw a shadow by one of the greenhouses.

It came closer, and his face turned to a scowl when he realized who it was. "Avery! Where were you? I expected you an hour and a half ago!"

"Y-Yes. I'm—I'm sorry, My Lord. I had a difficult time—"

"Save it, Lawrence. I have a job for you."

"Yes. Anything for you, My Lord."

"Oh, stop with the ass-kissing, Avery. Get up." He spat.

Avery took on a slight pained expression, but it was gone in an instant in his fear of Tom. "You—You said you had a job for me?"

"I did. Follow the man named Antares Black. Tell me his every move." Tom ordered.

"Black?" Avery said before he could stop himself. "But, why—"

Tom stopped him with a glare that could kill. "Because, my slippery friend. He is seducing the witch Granger and I must find out why."

Lawrence clenched his jaw so you could see the muscles working, but did not voice his protests or concerns. "Yes, My Lord."

"Good. Now off with you."

Tom watched as Avery transformed into his Animagus form—a pitch-black hawk. Tom kept his sneering face as Avery perched himself on the Hospital Wing window, casting a yellowy glare at Tom, who smirked.

"Yes. Hermione my dear, you are being watched."

* * *

Hermione and Andy were again in an awkward silence. Not one where something very stressful had happened and they didn't want to talk about it, but one in which both had a secret that they were dying to tell the other but couldn't. Right from the beginning, Hermione had felt a strong connection with him. Like they had been some sort of friends forever. He seemed to say the exact right things at the best moments, and they even seemed to be on the same mental wavelength at times.

Andy broke the silence. "Her—Hermione? Earlier you asked if there was something I wasn't telling you, and I didn't answer. The honest truth is that there is."

Her head snapped towards him rather painfully, and she stared into his malachite eyes. It seemed he was refusing her stare, though she thought she saw them flicker towards her a few times. "Yes?"

"Well, you see, I'm an Animagus."

Hermione stared at him in shock. Not that this in itself was surprising, but more the fact that he told her. "You-You are?"

"Yes. A wolf." He confided.

Hermione started to laugh, even though the situation was almost grave. He looked at her strangely, but the only thing she saw in his eyes was a glimmer of Sirius and his laughter in them. It was remarkable, now that she noticed it, how similar they were. She had of course noticed parallels between them, but she hadn't known they would be alike enough to have effectively the same Animagus form. Just that Sirius had been a great, black dog, and Antares being a wolf. It was remarkable.

"May I ask what you find so funny?" he asked, although she detected a tone of annoyance in his voice.

"I'm sorry." She said sincerely. "It's just that you now remind me so much of someone I used to know."

"Used to?" he questioned, looking at her.

"Yeah." She answered, a knot forming in her throat against her wishes. "He died." She replied bluntly.

"Oh, I apologize. I didn't know." He said honestly.

"It's fine. You're right—you didn't know." Hermione snapped. She sighed, taking another breath. "I didn't mean that. I shouldn't have retorted like that."

He didn't answer. She felt rather than heard a movement from his bed, but did not look over. Suddenly, she was aware of a pressure by her right side. She gasped. He was now sitting (rather awkwardly, it was true), on her bed. He gave a faint smile at her, and she sat up, cringing uncomfortably at her not-yet-healed wounds.

"Wha—What are you doing!" Hermione squeaked. "You're not supposed to be out of bed."

He merely shrugged and she rolled her eyes at his negligent nature. "She won't notice. Never does."

She was wondering how often exactly he had been in here to recognize that fact, but brushed it aside. "So how're you holding up?" he asked.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Oh, me? I'm fine now, really. He wasn't as close to me as he was to my best friend, but he still felt like family, though."

"Ah." He said simply. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Hermione responded dimly. "I mean, there's times I feel bad for him—my best friend, that is—and I wish I understood more than I do, but you remind me so much of him. It's uncanny."

For an explanation that escaped Hermione, she felt a drop of salty liquid grace her cheek and fall soundlessly onto the crisp bed sheets. She was unaware that Antares was doing anything, until she felt a warming impression on her face. She looked up to find that he had brushed her solemn and solitary tear away.

Hardly conscious that she was doing it, Hermione found herself sitting up farther and lightly touching her lips against his. They were surprisingly warm and inviting, and she felt herself relax. He seemed understandably startled, but he appeared to then get used to it. Hermione felt his hand enclose around her waist, and she draped her hands behind his neck.

He kissed her with un undying fervor and heat, which was an entirely new sensation to her. She replied with vehemence all her own as she deepened their connection, causing him to respond with more enthusiasm than she would have expected. Just as she was about to part her lips, she heard a loud, resounding bird screech through the air.

Startled, she broke apart from him (albeit a little disappointed), and jerked towards the window. She saw a shape, blacker than the sky around them, streak through the darkness, and she leapt out of bed, transfixed by the bird. Slowly, she walked the length of the room, placing her hands on the frigid glass and looking out. Antares came to join her at the window, his uninjured hand resting subconsciously on his bandaged side.

Slowly, they saw the obsidian hawk land on the ground by the boundary of the Forbidden Forest, illuminated in the silvery moonlight. They held their breaths for a moment as the bird stared into something deep in the trees. Strangely, it gave the impression of nodding its contoured head as it ruffled its wings. In the instant that a beam of light glanced off of its amber eyes, Hermione let out a shriek of surprise, for where the hawk had rested, now stood a boy of around 17, his eyes eerily similar to those of the bird's.

Antares himself seemed aghast at the sight, though he did not utter his surprise like Hermione. Still, he peered through the panes, squinting to see who it was. Agonizingly slowly, they saw another figure step out of the forest shadows, his hands behind his back. He seemed to be in heated discussion with the newly transformed man, but it gave Hermione chills at his sinister smile.

Unpredictably, almost spectrally, a thick strand of moonlight enveloped the second man's face. Hermione's eyes widened to those of near unreal proportions, and she emitted only a gasp of unbridled surprise before her vision went black and she hit the floor, unconscious.

_Five Minutes Prior_

Lawrence was tired of being perched on the windowsill, and was just about ready to close his lamp-like eyes when something alerted him. The yellow orbs snapped to the hospital room inside as he watched Antares get a determined look in his eye and, wincing, stand up. Unblinking, they trailed him to where the Granger girl lay, and Avery thought he could see a tear descending her cheek. Disgusted, Avery wanted to look away, but kept his glance on the now kissing couple, in fear of his life. He thought this would be enough information for now to tell his Master, and, frankly, he didn't think he could stand much more romantic tension.

Letting out a shrill cry, and spread his tired wings, taking flight. Landing in his prearranged position, Avery waited. Hearing his Master's soft voice from the trees, he pointed his head towards them and transformed, glad to be at full height again. He was unaware that Antares and Hermione had followed him at the window. He smiled evilly, and although he was tired, he was confident his master would reward him.

"Master." He greeted.

"Avery. What do you have for me?" Tom said, stepping slightly out of the cold darkness.

"It—It's the Granger witch." He said carefully. "And—And Black."

Tom's eyes flashed with an unidentifiable disappointment. "OUT WITH IT!"

Avery flinched. "Well, they...they had an…_intimate _connection for a moment."

Tom just stared at him. "Intimate how?" he asked, a little too soft and sweetly.

"They kissed." Avery braced himself automatically.

"Thank you, Avery."

Tom stepped farther into the moonlight to grin falsely at his loyal 'friend'. In doing so, the moonlight glistened off his defined features for a moment, and his eyes darted to the castle window. For a split second, he saw two faces there, until one fell from the glass, and the other looked down to see what happened.

"Hermione…" Tom whispered. "AVERY! YOU FOOL!"

"I—what, My Lord? What—what happened—" Avery's smile vanished in an instant, and he now cowered.

Tom seriously considered killing or at least harming Avery right then and there, but abruptly Hermione's shocked face burst into his mind, and he found himself lowering his cast wand. He didn't know why he hadn't executed his intentions, but something about Hermione's hurt and stunned look pained him. It was as if her emotions engulfed him and made him feel pity on this unworthy being in front of him.

"Just get out of my sight, Avery. Now!" Tom ordered quietly.

"Y—Yes, My Lord. Yes." Avery left, tripping over his own feet into the darkness.

Riddle just stood there in the enveloping silence, the jealousy and ache now all too evident in his brown eyes. Abruptly, he sank to the ground in sad and calamitous defeat.

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**There it is. Thanks below:**

**Angelic Bladez (**thanks as per usual, and I'm sorry!**), purple bubble (**omg, I love you sooooo much! Thanks!**), san01, Mrs Pierre Bouvier, hermionegranger2007 (**thanks, and I did—you?**), Pozest-Illusion, unworthy fan (**maybe I did describe him rather handsomely? I tried to make his eyes his best feature…**), Twilight Elf-Maiden, Sadistically Insane (**sorry!**), and chipped-nails (**sorry it's frightening—or is that good? Thanks for reviewing my other story as well!

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**insert raised eyebrow here… **

You sound like another Amy Lee…can I explain myself quickly?

First of all, you and her seem to have a problem with my description of his build. Its one sentence, people. I'm not trying to sound arrogant or anything, but can you just deal with it? Come on. ONE SENTENCE. I put it in as a description. If you want to, replace it with your own. Plus, I've come to notice there's a lot of British people on the site, but, no offense, I am not going to conform to British writing styles, because I am American and I would like to write my own story. So sorry, and I don't plan on researching Britain.

And jeans, I feel I've already explained that bit, if you want to go back and read my explanation to Amy Lee on one of my previous chapters at the bottom. Also, like I said to her, I am not going to get a beta reader or anything, and this is FOR FUN, and I don't think it needs that much cleaning up, so excuse me if it does not conform to your standards. Once again, I'm sorry if this has severely offended you, but seriously? If you don't like it, don't review.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Sorry about the Hermione/Andy thing! Don't worry, it'll get better, probably starting this chapter, okay? Stick with me, please!

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Hermione awoke with a start, and with a groan realized an intense, throbbing pain in her head. Gingerly, she felt it, and came across a tender spot in the back of her head and recalled the events of a while ago. Now that she thought about it, the more her headache increased. She assumed Antares must have carried her to her bed, since Madam Pomfrey had already gone to sleep by the time Hermione blacked out. She guessed she had hit her head somewhere, and, looking around, came across a wooden table holding a plant that she must have came in contact with.

She looked to her right, and saw Andy lying there, presumably asleep. Wondering exactly why she was doing it, she strode over to the window cautiously. It was still dark, but the moon was shining as bright and innocent as ever. She looked out and saw a figure on his knees by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Creasing her brow, she strained to see who it was, but his head was bent, and she was unable to see his face.

Slowly, she forced herself away, and, placing a quick kiss on Andy's cheek, she quietly went out the door. Once outside, she ran the short distance to the great Hogwarts doors. Wincing at the scraping sound they made, she anxiously looked around to see if anyone noticed, but it appeared that they did not. Slipping between the small gap of the door, she blessed the pitch darkness and her completely enveloped form.

She saw the young man glance up, and him obviously seeing the doors open, he scrambled up, brandishing his wand. Hermione froze for a second, but continued on across the grounds more quietly. She saw his eyes darting around, the uneasiness in them shining with the light. Startlingly, she stopped dead once again, barely preventing herself from fainting again. It was Tom.

Hermione felt a beam of moonlight glimmer in her eyes, and with a sinking feeling realized it was too late to hide. "Tom?" she said nervously. She saw him lower his wand a fraction.

She took a small step forward onto the lawn, but saw him taking larger, more cautious ones towards her. He had almost reached her. "Tom, where did you—"

She was stopped by his warm and full lips completely covering hers in a harsh and undying kiss. Her heart started racing frantically, but she felt herself giving into her desires. She kissed him back with more passion than ever, and felt something even more intense radiating from them than she did with Andy. It was everything she had ever dreamed of. She lost control of all her senses except the one telling her to keep the connection going. She laced her fingers in his dark hair and found it slightly untidy but she only felt more for him.

His warm hands were now on the lowest part of her back, and she realized that he was indirectly asking her permission to go further. She gave a ghost of a smile, and pulled him closer to her. She placed her hands on his face, finding him to not be clean-shaven, but she felt that it pleasantly contrasted with his uptight exterior. Hermione was now aware that he was grasping her in closer, their kiss deepening with more desire and hunger than ever.

She opened her mouth, almost subconsciously yet enjoying every minute, and felt his tongue now joining hers, pleased that he obliged. It was the most ecstatic feeling she had ever had, and she couldn't stop herself from being elated and sensualistic. A small moan escaped her lips despite her self-control, and she felt his lips twitch against hers. Something unknown coming over her, she extricated her hands and slid them under his shirt, feeling his muscular stomach.

He inhaled trivially at the shock of her cold hands, but she found hers warming up at his intense body heat. Hermione never wavered from the kiss, but found herself still perusing his tanned stomach and tense shoulders. Hermione started to take her hands back out again, but she was stopped by his hand on hers, holding it there. Her skin felt on fire at his touch, but it was a pleasurable burning, and she only concentrated on heightening and inflaming the kiss and her satisfaction from it.

Hermione did not dare to dwell on the dark fact that she was now blissfully making out with the man that would become the darkest wizard known to everyone. She did not see how someone who could give off so much blazing cravings and fulfill Hermione's every need would become a cold and heartless murderer. It just didn't seem to fit. Harry had told Hermione that Tom was quite handsome and charmed nearly everyone when he was younger, and Hermione couldn't help but feel it rubbing off on her. Now that he was attracted to her, Hermione just had to get him to trust her so he wouldn't hurt Harry in the future. The only problem was that as he hit a particularly sensitive part in her mouth with his, she was overcome with the feeling like she never wanted to leave him.

Not wanting to, and frankly wondering why she was doing it, Hermione broke away, regretfully taking her hands off of him, but keeping them on his bare chest. He stared at her in wonder, confusion, but also in lusting hunger. "Tom, I—I need to ask you something." She said breathlessly.

He stared at her now, his eyes not losing their forcefulness, but distress coming into them. "Anything." He said in a low voice.

She downcast her eyes. "How is that you can be so concupiscent and alluring, but yet so evil?"

Hermione lifted her eyes to his, and he looked at her with sadness in them. "Hermione, I…I told you I'm not who you think I am. I'm not a good person."

One solitary tear made its way down her cheek, but she made no move to brush it away. "Tom. You said you wanted to know why I came here."

Tom did nothing but stare at her. "Yes…" he agreed.

"Well, the truth is," Hermione started and flicked her stare to him again, "I'm here to stop you, Tom. I'm here to stop you becoming evil. And every moment I remain in this time with you is affecting the future. I don't know how much it has already."

He tilted her chin to look up at him, and he promptly planted a fierce kiss on her lips, sending hot shivers up her body. "I could never become evil with you around."

She smiled grimly and kissed him back again. He picked her up and swung her around once, Hermione producing a small squeal, and a soft breeze rustling the leaves in the nearby forest. She, surprising even herself, swung her legs around his waist and held on to his shoulders as he supported her weight. She was honestly impressed that he didn't even stagger at the additional force placed upon him. Quite the contrary, he smiled and put his hands again on her back as his mouth claimed hers even more fervently than before.

* * *

Antares woke up groggily, but he had no fathomable idea why, for he estimated it was still either very late at night or early in the morning. Perhaps it was the bright moonlight streaming through the window, or the shrill squeal from outside. His green eyes widened in wonder as to what it could be. Dreading what he would find, he peered over to the left, but to his dismay, he found Hermione's bed empty.

He jumped up from his bed, his ribs now feeling sore but better, throwing aside his blankets and walking to the great glass window. What he saw made him feel absolutely sick to his stomach. Just outside were two figures—a tall male one, supporting a female entity, who was entwined around his waist. But it wasn't just this scandalous display that disheartened him. It was the fact that in the brief second the light had shone on the couple's faces, he saw that it was not only Hermione in the embrace, but the legendary Tom Riddle.

He felt a surge of both jealousy and hurt go through him, but he realized sadly that he could do nothing about it. If Hermione's heart was set on the villainous Riddle, then that had to be so. Even so, he told himself, he and Hermione had just met, and although they had shared a kiss, it was not like it lasted very long or contained any true feeling. To him, he had to admit, he had felt something between them, whether it was her fragile persona, or just their touch when they connected. Either way, he confessed that (considering her and Tom's provocative position), she obviously like Riddle a lot better than she did him.

"Heartbreaking, isn't it." A voice said sarcastically from behind Andy.

Whipping around, he came face to face with a handsome boy leaning casually against a bed frame like he did it every day. He had disheveled dark blonde hair which fell loosely over his piercing gray eyes. His features were softly defined, and his mouth was curved elegantly into a constant smirking position. He wore dark pants and a form-fitting dark blue shirt which complimented his eyes. With a disgusted grimace, Antares figured out immediately who it was.

"What are you doing here?" Antares sneered, his wrist twisting painfully.

"I've been sent on a mission. You see, you and I have some things to discuss." The boy said convincingly, crossing his arms but not moving from his pose.

"We have nothing do with each other, _Avery." _Andy spat venomously.

"Ah, but that's where you go wrong, Black. For I now know you have feelings for that little witch Granger over there. Unfortunately for you, my friend, it seems she neither acknowledges nor returns your obvious ardor."

"So? I still have no business with you."

Avery seemed to have noticed Andy's flicker of consent at Avery's words. He smirked wider. "Wrong again. Haven't you realized? You have feelings for Granger, she has feelings for Riddle, and he her. Riddle has sent me on a mission concerning her, and business with her is business with you. Therefore, you and I—" he pointed to them both, "—have dealings."

Andy's mind reeled quickly with answers. "And what mission is that exactly?" he asked.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough."

Before Andy could block it, Lawrence swiped his wand out and said, "_Somnus mobilicorpus!"_

Antares passed out cold without a second thought, and then rose into the air a mere six inches. Avery manipulated Antares's unconscious body unceremoniously out the door with an almost too satisfied grin on his face. He struggled out the Great Hall doors, letting Andy's body hit the outdoor steps sickeningly. Avery saw with his stomach twisting, Tom and Hermione still in fascination with each other, and quickly transformed into his hawk. With a sigh, he let out a shrill squawk, alerting his Master to his presence.

A loud call resounded through the air, and Hermione pulled away from Tom, her eyes anxious. "There it is again!" she whispered, still wanting more of him.

He looked at her enticingly. "There what is?"

"The bird!"

A wave of annoyance and anger swept over Tom's brown eyes, as his head snapped towards the front of Hogwarts. As he came across a jet-black bird staring at him with anticipating yellow eyes, he groaned at the extremely inconsiderate timing. Slowly letting Hermione down from his arms, but still holding onto her waist, he gave a sharp jerk of his head at the bird.

In a flurry of wings, the hawk came to rest but five feet from Tom and Hermione. With a venomous glare at her, Avery transformed, causing her to shriek in surprise. "YOU!" she yelled.

He looked much different to her now. His hair was shades lighter, and although his eyes were expressionless, they no longer contained the absolute evilness that they did when she had last seen him. It was actually an odd feeling for her; she noticed similarities between the grown man in the Time Room, and his subsequent baby face. Either way, he gave off an eerie aura; one that she didn't intend on getting to know better.

He looked strangely at her, then peeled his gaze away to look at Tom. "M—My Lord. Black is over there. As you requested."

Avery jabbed his thumb to the steps where Antares lay. Hermione peered into the foggy darkness, barely distinguishing Andy's shape. She clasped her hands over her mouth. "Andy!" she yelped. "How could you?" she said to Tom.

Hermione ran as fast as she could towards the steps, and brushed a piece of hair from Antares's face. "Andy! Wake up, Andy. Wake up!"

She knew Tom and Avery would follow her even before she heard their footsteps. Behind her, she heard Tom turn on him. "AVERY! What did you do?" he admonished sinisterly.

"My Lord, I did a-as you re-requested…" Avery stuttered.

"I DID NOT SAY TO KNOCK HIM OUT, YOU FOOL!" Tom yelled.

Hermione was getting frightened at Tom's tone of voice. It was now sincerely scared her, and she was panicking at wondering what he would do. She looked up to see Avery cringe in fear. "My Lord, please…"

She saw Tom start to raise his hand as though to punish Avery, but her gaze must have alerted him, because he looked down at her. His hard stare that he had used with Avery was now starting to soften as he continued Hermione's. Hermione noticed that with each seeming spark of light in his eyes, he switched from being angry to ashamed, and then finally to a look that he wanted to explain himself. She felt herself melting in it, and she even started to smile as she absentmindedly swept another wisp of Andy's hair from his tanned face.

Avery glanced between the two of them with disgust in his eyes. "My Lord, thank you…thank you…"

"Shut up." Tom said icily, which, indeed, shut Avery up.

Tom pointed his wand directly at Antares, and although it appeared he was going to curse him, Hermione stared into his eyes again, which told her to trust him. _"Suscitatio!"_

Antares awoke suddenly, sitting up. "Shh…" Hermione said. "_Tergeo." _She muttered, and the blood at the back of his head disappeared.

He nodded in thanks, and shot a deadly glare at Avery, then at Tom. "What are _you_ doing here, Riddle?"

"I was under the impression that the grounds are open to anyone." Tom retorted, smirking.

"Tom…" Hermione said warningly. He glanced at her in recognition.

"My Lord, do you still want me to—" Avery was silenced by Tom's look.

"There is no need anymore, Avery." He said frostily, indifference on his face. He looked down at Andy again. "Off you go, Black."

Antares swallowed and stood up, though swaying slightly from the head rush. Hermione jumped up to steady him. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked.

Hermione frowned. "Yes, Tom. Why?"

Tom searched her eyes, and at the look of pleading there, he resignedly decided to tell her the truth. "Leave us, Lawrence."

"But—My Lord—" Avery protested.

"Now." Tom repeated in a dangerously low voice.

"As you wish." Avery left with a swish of his robes, entering the castle, and all was still again.

"Hermione, I—well, when you get right down to it—I was jealous." Tom said honestly. She raised her eyebrow perplexingly. "Of—Of you and him."

Hermione's concern and disappointment alleviated immediately, and, forgetting that Antares was there, flung herself upon Tom. This time he did stumble a few steps in surprise. Andy's face suddenly broke out into one of extreme hatred and loathing as he clenched his jaw. Glaring disgustingly at the two of them, he couldn't help but feel the smallest pang of envy course through him. He was so close to having her, but Tom took her away, too. He realized ruefully that he would not come out well of this one.

Andy was still staring when Hermione finally untangled herself from Tom. "You'd better go along now, Black, if you don't want to land yourself in detention." Tom said, and Andy was furious to note the tone of laughter in his voice.

"Yeah? And how would you do that? Tell _Dumbledore_?" Andy snapped spitefully.

"Nah. But I am Head Boy."

Antares gave Tom a set stare, but unable to do anything further, he too followed in Avery's footsteps. However, Hermione was still able to hear a mumble of 'damn you' under Andy's breath.

"So, where were we?" Tom asked a second later, grinning at Hermione.

She laughed and, jumping into his arms, gave him her most soul-filled and desirous kiss she could handle, and receiving more from him than she had ever imagined.

* * *

**Yes, I know, Tom and Hermione are rather out of character here, but you guys would have gotten madder at me had I kept up her and Antares's relationship. Hope this one was better!**

**Thanks to: Moonstone, san01, Purplebubble (**thanks so much! Do you feel better for Tom now?**), chipped-nails (**sorry! Thanks, and I hope this is better!**), Mrs Pierre Bouvier (**sorry! Haha, I laughed so f-ing hard at that jolly rancher thing! You made me want one! Tommy wont do anything too horrible to Antares…**), Angelic Bladez (**again, as always-thank you!**), amoramor** (thank you sooo much! I owe you!**), Pozest-Illusion, and hermionegranger2007.

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**Amy Lee**

I see you're still reading my story? Well, if you're going to criticize my writing, please don't read it. Or if you do, don't review please. Because at least I take them as negative and condescending and while I usually ignore them, but they just get annoying and have no point. Because they are actually not really helping, just taking up space in my email and on so just please go criticize someone else. Same goes for inserts raised eyebrow here…

Oh, by the way, I'm not going on tantrums, I'm just tired and annoyed of your reviews. Fanfiction is for fun and I do write my best. I've noticed you haven't written any stories? So perhaps before you go off and "thorn" other people, maybe you should edit your own writing, or start. Because you are being just about the biggest hypocrite ever. Like I said, don't review my story if you don't have anything worthy or good to say.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Hope y'all liked that chapter. This story's starting to come to a close as you can tell. A couple chapters more, I would say. Tom and Hermione are going to seem pretty ooc at first, but bear with me. Anyways, here's chapter 18!

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Tom gave Hermione a little nibble on her bottom lip to which she squealed in pleasure as he held her in his arms. In response, all she did was kiss him impeccably fiercely on his lips, and she even gave his tongue a small joining with hers. He was honestly surprised that she reacted like this. Like she didn't care he was completely evil. She just threw herself at him with all her being and indulged his pleasures. He was, however, glad that she did. When she wrapped her legs around him, or even when she jumped into his arms, he found that she was enjoyably light.

Still, he had noticed the look of disappointment and hurt on her face when Avery had told him that it was what he had ordered. It was true; Tom had said to bring Black to him for questioning. He hadn't however known that Hermione would come back to him, as enthusiastic as ever. He now had a higher respect for—Antares, was it?—because whatever Antares had done with Hermione, it caused her to still like Tom more. But, then again, he was also feeling slightly friendlier with Avery, considering he had interrupted Hermione and Andy's kissing session. But only a small bit friendlier.

He was kicked out of his thoughts by the loud chirp of a bird outside—not Avery's Animagus form, but a regular bird. He looked around, discovering that it was starting to get light outside. He hadn't been paying attention at all to the time; it seemed to pass too quickly.

Hermione must have noticed too, because while she didn't let go of him, she looked at him with a worried look in her almond eyes. He gave her an impish grin and gave her a euphoric kiss while spinning her around again. She laughed in joyfulness, but jumped down from his arms. She was not acting at all like herself, Tom realized, but he decided almost instantly that he liked the daring Hermione better than the studious, uptight Hermione.

"Tom." She said laughingly. "We have to go inside! Madam Pomfrey will have a fit when she notices I'm gone!"

"Aw, do we have to?" Tom said mockingly; a tone which he hadn't heard himself use before.

"Yes, Tom." She replied bossily, placing her hands on her hips. She was back to the old Hermione again.

"Okay, you're right. Here, I'll take you there." He surrendered.

"Tom, I am perfectly capable of bringing myself there." She responded defensively.

"You sure?"

She started to nod in agreement, but she swiftly cried out in surprise as he picked her up again in his arms. She hit him once lightly on the arm in mock anger, but he just arched a dark eyebrow at her and smirked as he placed another playful kiss on her lips. He brought her effortlessly up the steps and somehow managed to get them both inside the doors.

"Let me down!" Hermione shrieked softly when they reached the Hospital Wing.

He grinned at her, but obliged. "Anything for you, my dear." He said politely.

"Oh, shut up." Hermione said bewitchingly. She planted an impetuous but quick peck on his cheek and felt her lips burning up with his touch. She looked back at him and disappeared into the room.

Tom was still temporarily in shock at Hermione's change of mood and behavior, but he didn't—and couldn't—dwell on it for long. He swiftly turned around and nearly ran into a certain blonde-haired boy. Tom's anger was quickly rising, though now it was more annoyance than pure hate. He glared at the boy, who stepped back in apology. 

"What is it?" Tom snapped shortly.

"M-My Lord. I have always wondered…why Granger? Do you even know her really? Because if she was involved with Black…who knows what she is up to?" Avery said bravely.

"It is not your job to delve in my affairs, Avery. You'll do what I tell you." Tom said softly but commandingly.

"Yes. As you say, My Lord."

"And do not call me your Lord, Avery! It is really getting on my nerves. It's Riddle or Voldemort to you. Anything else you wanted?" Tom ordered.

"Yes, actually, My Lo—Voldemort. Do you still wish me to watch them?" he asked nervously.

"There is no need anymore. Though you can check in every now and then on Black. Do not trail him, but make sure he does not do anything foolish. He's a smart man and he is capable of doing just about anything. He is an Animagus; watch out for any suspicious forms. He seems like a wolf or dog kind of person to me. Oh, while you're at it, give those orders also to Mulciber. You seem to need an accomplice." Tom said scathingly.

Avery flinched but did not say anything. "Yes, sir."

Avery transformed and flew off to the Slytherin Common Room, leaving Tom there to reminisce about Hermione. However, Tom did not notice Avery's devilish sneer as he left.

* * *

Hermione leaned on the door of the Hospital Wing once it closed, her heart beating fast and her breath coming in short gasps. She reached a wavering finger up to her lips and felt them still warm from Tom's feverish kisses. She inhaled deeply and smelled his light apple-cinnamon scent on her and still wondered where it had come from. She still couldn't believe how a man that would become the beyond evil Lord Voldemort could pleasure her with such deep, fulfilling actions, yet in the future be colder than ice. She just hoped she could change the future by being here.

She closed her eyes in thought, unaware that she was smiling in happiness. Someone cleared their throat off to her right, and she jumped in surprise. "Don't _do _that!" she said, still slightly in shock.

"So, uh, do you usually take pleasure in toying with other people's emotions?" Andy asked her accusingly.

"W—What?" Hermione questioned.

"Was I just your comfort zone until Riddle came around? Did you even enjoy it at all?"

Her eyes took on an ashamed and apologetic glimmer as she looked down. "I'm sorry, Andy. I really am. I think I was just hurt by everything that had happened. I do like you, I sincerely do. It's just…it feels beyond wrong. If you knew why, you would understand I hope. It's difficult to explain, but all I can say is I'm terribly sorry and I hope you forgive me. I'll of course understand if you don't and if you never talk to me again, but I really did not mean to hurt you as much as I did. I'm so, so, so sorry, Andy." She said, one tear cascading down each cheek.

She didn't notice him get up from his sitting position to come over to her. "Shh. I should have known he was the object of your desire. I took advantage of you. I suppose I was being a little overdramatic. Do you forgive _me_?"

Hermione looked up at him incredulously and nodded. He gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head and smiled. "So are you planning on telling me why exactly it would be wrong? Just for my own curiosity. I know you're obsessed with Riddle—and him with you—but if you'd like to indulge me?" he asked wonderingly.

She pondered for a few moments. "I can't say much, but I will tell you the main reason. It's because he's related to you and technically to my friend. And I can't—" she gave him a silencing look at his open mouth, "—tell you any more than that for risk of changing things. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." He said sadly, and Hermione joined him in a gloomy grimace.

* * *

Avery reached the entrance to the Slytherin dorms and muttered the password ("_Parseltongue"). _Kicking aside a stray book, he walked blindly into their dormitories, reaching the third bed from the right. Hitting the black-haired boy hard upside his head, Avery was delighted to notice that the boy both woke up and started rubbing his head, looking around aimlessly.

"Get up you useless fool." Avery spat quietly.

"Avery?" Mulciber yawned.

"Of course. Now get up. Voldemort has given us orders and he is not a patient man. NOW!"

Mulciber grumbled something obscene but incoherent, however, joining Avery in the Common Room just the same. "What!" he demanded.

"We are to follow Antares Black around while not arising suspicions." Lawrence quickly briefed him. "Do you understand me?"

"Obviously." Miles Mulciber said redundantly.

Lawrence sneered. "Yes, well. I have surmounting evidence of the Dark Lord's affliction with that Granger girl—quite disgusting, really. She is much more than meets the eye; that much I discern. Unfortunately, our 'oh so levelheaded' Master has seemed to neglect that fact. You and I—" Avery motioned to both of them, "—must do something about it, without raising Voldemort's suspicions. Think you're up to it?" Avery added as a vindictive afterthought.

Miles pondered rebelliously for precious moments before making up his mind. "You're on. But—just so we're clear…he finds out and I had nothing to do with it."

Avery stared at him unblinkingly. "He told both me and you to trail Black. Therefore…you do have something to do with it. As such, you have agreed nonetheless, and so I will now leave you to your piteous sleep. Until then, Mulciber."

Mulciber stared at Avery's retreating back with a look of utmost loathing. Contorting his face into a mix of a sneer and of great dislike, he stormed up to the dormitories again, but was afraid he wouldn't be getting much sleep that night.

* * *

Hermione woke up to a bright stream of light glistening through the window. She smiled gleefully as she recalled the events of last night. Suddenly, her mouth was claimed by a set of full, enchanting lips covering hers. "Good morning, Sunshine." A low, seductive voice said next to her.

"How long have you been here?" Hermione asked woefully.

"Oh, about an hour. Been watching you sleep. Don't worry; it's still before Pomfrey's shift starts. She hasn't noticed I'm here." Tom confided.

Hermione smiled again. "Yeah, well, you'd better get out soon otherwise she will come in!"

"I was just going to leave anyway. Oh, I almost forgot. These—" he pulled out his wand, which now had a bouquet of red roses stemming from it, "—are for you."

He removed them from the tip of his wand, and handed them gracefully to her. "Tom!" she said breathlessly. "They're beautiful!"

"Yes, I know. I'm rather gifted."

She punched him lightly on the arm. "Cocky is more like it." There were sounds of distant footsteps coming from outside the door. "Tom! You have to go!" she said worriedly.

"I'll be back." Tom replied invitingly, placing a harsh kiss on her lips. He swiftly left the room, though Hermione clutched the flowers closer to her.

"Miss Granger! You're up early!" a bustling Madam Pomfrey said, coming briskly into the room. "Have a good rest?"

"Euphoric. Thanks." Hermione answered with an impish grin.

"Yes, well." Madam Pomfrey said, almost flustered. "I'll just take another look at your side there dear, and then you should be free to go."

Hermione refrained herself from jumping in glee, but just barely. Madam Pomfrey checked Hermione's cuts which were now non-existent, except for one small mark, which Madam Pomfrey said would go away by the evening.

"Oh," Pomfrey added, "when Mr. Black wakes up, you can tell him that he can go—" she stopped and looked over Andy's bed in horror. He was missing.

* * *

"What do you want!" Andy said through his agony. He was now sporting a rather large gash above his left eye, and he had brutally been kicked in his right side, which happened to be where one of his ribs had been broken. He also felt—and rather accurately—that he had at least sprained, if not fractured, his wrist. He hadn't known what he had done to deserve this.

"You conflicted with our Master's plans." Miles said, half his face covered in shadows. "And for that you must pay." He added simply.

"I didn't do _anything!" _Antares reiterated. "Seems like your buddy Riddle has got just what he wants from Hermione. So I don't see why you're interested in me." He said bitingly, trying to ignore the drops of blood sinking into his shirt.

Mulciber and Avery laughed sickeningly. "And how are you planning to convince us that you're not still…_involved?" _Lawrence asked dismissively.

Antares stared at him in disbelief. How was he going to get out of this one? He knew that you could not Disapparate inside Hogwarts, so that was not an option. And his chances of getting away from them in an animal as big as a wolf were slim. They had taken his wand away, and he thought he was too weak anyway to Summon it without some sort of implement. There was no other option. He was standing upright now; if he could just get into position to get his wand…it was dangling loosely in Miles's hand…there was no other way. He had to go for it. It was now or never…

"One last time," he said to them breathlessly—his wand was still in reach--, "I didn't do anything with Hermione! But you can tell your Master you failed! No one captures a Black and gets away with it!"

He transformed into his Animagus form, and taking a great leap, grabbed his wand from Miles's hand, grateful and surprised that it didn't break in his hard bite. He felt Avery make to grab his tail, but he kicked out hard, feeling with satisfaction, Avery howl in pain as Andy's nails dug into his face. His paws were slipping on the slick tile…if he could just make it into the Hospital Wing, he would be safe…he could hear their footsteps lugging lethargically behind him…

With a painful bound, Andy jumped an entire flight of twelve stairs, his legs almost buckling underneath him, but grateful at his canine nails able to dig into the wood floor (though he cringed at the marks left in it). He turned a corner swiftly, and felt his side collide with the wall, but only whimpered as he continued. Looking up just in time, he stopped, his feet slipping from lack of traction.

"Andy?" she asked frantically. She looked up and saw Miles and Lawrence slow their running, but they were still looking at the pair anxiously.

Suddenly, Mulciber and Avery were thrown backward no less than twenty feet, landing at the base of the stairs. Miles looked up deliriously, but Hermione noticed that Lawrence did not get up, and she assumed with a grimace that he must have hit his head on the stairs and was knocked out. Now she was incredibly pleased that she had suggested Harry continue with the DA meetings, for she was really getting the hang of the Non-Verbal spells now, though she was marveling herself at even her ability to do a spell as simple as 'expelliarmus'. Still, it was a spur-of-the-moment thought that she had and frankly, she was glad it worked.

The wolf that she knew was Antares was looking up at her with his amazingly green eyes (the only feature telling Hermione that he was Andy), a look of both awe and thankfulness bestowed upon them. She smiled, and realized that her wand was still out. Blushing, she stowed it away again. She noticed that Miles was starting to stand up, but she had no intentions of letting him.

"HEY!" she shouted.

He flinched and looked up at her. She could see even from that distance that he was contemplating whether to run away or not. She was happy that she had made an impression on them, but her rule-abiding side was kicking in, and she was desperately hoping she didn't get in trouble for it. Mulciber's dark blue eyes were darting from Hermione to the hallway on his left, and she knew he was two seconds away from sprinting in the opposite direction.

Hermione put her hand in her robes as if to reach for her wand, and she saw his eyes widen; she smiled. Mistakenly, she stole an amused glance at Antares, but unfortunately by the time she looked back up at Miles, he had his wand out, and she stumbled backward with the force of his spell.

"_Impedimen—" _

"_Protego!" _another voice shouted from behind Hermione and Andy.

Miles was flung backward with his own incantation, though Hermione still felt a tingling sensation in her body from it almost hitting her. She looked at her defender, and saw none other than Minerva McGonagall stowing her own wand away. McGonagall adjusted her book strap looking smug and pleased with herself, but regained composure as she approached Hermione.

"Thanks." Hermione said gratefully.

"No problem. I was wondering if I'd catch up to you again. You should be more careful next time. If you'll want to follow me, I have some long overdue points to take away from Slytherin. Care to join me?" she said satisfyingly.

Hermione smiled as she followed her future Transfiguration teacher up the steps. Minerva peered down to Miles's face and pursed her lips in a very stern-type way. "Now that will be 20 for attacking a student, 10 for using magic in the halls, and 10 for poor, unconscious Mr. Avery over there. Now you'd better run away before you get found by a teacher."

Miles stared defiantly up at her, though the rattled look in his eyes could not be mistaken. "You can't take points away! You're only a Prefect!" he said indignantly.

"Look at the badge, genius. Head. Girl." She emphasized, pointing at her robes which, indeed, had a large silver pin on them.

He grit his teeth and gave her the most vicious look he could before turning on his heel and swiftly striding down the hallway. "What do we do with him?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Well, one side of me wants to just leave him there to die, but I suppose we should take him to the Hospital Wing." Minerva said woefully.

"Yeah…I guess. _Ennervate." _Hermione cast unwillingly.

Avery moaned as he rubbed his head, but upon looking at the two girls, he scrambled up, regaining himself, though his eyes rolled slightly in his recovering state. "Y—You know, if I were you, I'd check on your boyfriend over there, Granger. He's not looking too well, is he?"

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the now transformed Antares. She ran over to him, barely hearing Minerva's commanding voice over Avery. He looked horrible—his shirt was ripped on the side, trickles of blood were still falling down his face, and his wrist was at an unpleasantly odd angle. Hermione grimaced at him and looked back at Avery with utmost hatred.

"You're—dead." She mouthed venomously. He just smirked and walked off, seemingly regardless of his head injury. Minerva looked at her with sympathy.

"You go take him to the Hospital Wing," she said consolingly, "and we'll give Gryffindor some points for superior spell work."

A small shower of rubies fell into the bottom hourglass, and Hermione stared at Minerva with gratitude. "Wow. Thanks. I'll see you around?"

Hermione cast a Sleeping Charm on Andy as she started levitate him to the Hospital Wing. When Hermione was almost to the door, she heard an oh-so-familiar voice, and her spirits lightened. She turned around, and lost herself in the soulful, deep chocolate brown eyes belonging to her Tom Riddle.

"_MY Tom Riddle? When did I start referring to him as mine?" _Hermione asked herself.

"When you started making out with him, you twit." Her all-knowing side said.

"_Ah. Right. This could get complicated."_

"No. Really?"

"_Shut up."_

"Hermione! What happened?" Tom asked her worriedly, having caught the glimpse of Andy hanging limply in midair.

"What—What _happened?" _she questioned incredulously. "Avery and Mulciber happened, Tom! Look what they did to him! And DO NOT tell me you had nothing to do with this, because I know you did. WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM!"

He didn't look hurt or ashamed, but instead angry. "I told them to check in on Black every now and then." He admitted.

"WHAT!" Hermione shouted. She didn't care if anyone heard. "And this is what 'checking in' looks like to you! He could have _DIED, _Tom! And he would have if he had not been able to transform! If I had not been able to master non-verbal spells! How dare you? I can't believe this!"

He made to touch her face with his hand, but she hit it away, her eyes starting to tear in furiousness. "Hermione…" he started.

"No, Tom. Either you call everyone and everything concerning Andy off and never trouble him again or I tell everyone about what you become and what you have and will do!" she said, trying to convince herself that she wasn't blackmailing him, but was failing horridly.

"Consider it done." He said sadly.

"R—Really?" Hermione asked, taking a deep breath.

"Yes. I didn't know he meant so much to you. I mean, after all, you two did just meet."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Hermione said defensively.

"Nothing. I just didn't want him to hurt you is all."

"With all due respect," Hermione replied firmly, placing her hands on her hips, "you're more likely to hurt me than anyone else is, Riddle."

"I know."

"Oh don't give me that, Riddle! Don't try and suck up now. It's too late. You already said you wouldn't bother him, remember? Last night? Why, oh why, after it was blatantly obvious that Andy and I weren't together did you send a murdering party after him? That was mean, cold, and heartless. And you're turning out to be j-j-just l-like I know y-y-you…" she trailed, thinking miserably of her time.

"All I can say is I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't know what else to give you. And you can be sure that they won't be harming you again. I promise." He said sincerely.

Hermione shook her head. "Well, I hope so. But I can't be trusting your word anymore, now can I? Just let me save my one honest friend, will you? Excuse me." She replied, brushing past him to get to Andy again.

She didn't look back, but if she had, she would have noticed the single, salty, almost non-existent tear slide down Tom's cheek.

* * *

**So sad, I know. I bet you were wondering if Minerva would come in again, huh? well, there you go. This one was longer than I anticipated! Like literally 10 pages..hehe :)**

**Thanks to:**

**emma (**omfg, thank you sooooo much, I owe you!**), Angelic Bladez, MandaPandaAR (**thanks for reviewing, I love you so much!**), Caitlin, San01, Indaic, Moonstone, animerocksjapanrocks, Jessi Brooke (**again, THANK YOU!**), hermionegranger2007 (**as always**), chipped-nails (**love you too and tthhaannkkss!**), and Mrs Pierre Bouvier (**acid pops sound good too…


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Wow…Chapter 19 already? this has gone by too fast… :( Anyway, thank yous are at the end. **

**_This chapter is dedicated to: MandaPandaAR for her wonderful idea—thanks so much.

* * *

_**

Hermione slid down the door, and hugging her knees to her chest, she cried silently. But silent tears are the ones that show how much you are hurting inside—she didn't know why she had gotten so attached to him. He was the Dark Lord, and she was Harry Potter's best friend. He was so charming and kind and filled with emotion and power.

"_But, then again," _she thought, _"so is Antares."_

"Oh, this is _so _confusing." Hermione said grimly, her head in her hands.

"It's not that bad, Granger. Chin up." A low voice came from her right.

"Yes it is." Hermione responded, just as miserably, not looking up and keeping her head covered.

"Nonsense." The voice said, much closer. He gave her a soft kiss on the head, and she jumped in surprise—she hadn't realized he was that close.

"Ahh!" she screamed quietly, looking up. Her heart rate settled immensely as she gazed into the brightest, most sparkling grass-green eyes. "Andy! You're feeling better then?"

"Much." He replied, smiling his shining grin. "Madam Pomfrey healed me in a trice, though she said my ribs would be hurting for a while. She gave me some pain killers."

"That's good. But I can't help but feel this is all my fault." She confessed dismally.

"And why in the blazing hell would that be?"

"Because I had a relationship with you. Even if it wasn't technically one. And you know Riddle. Yes, it has to do with him—you were right." She added at his triumphant look. "I think he was either jealous or just spiteful and told Avery and Miles about us and they took it too literally and just about killed you."

"Well then it'd be my mistake, wouldn't it?" he said, but looking at her puzzled expression, he clarified. "I made the moves on you, not the other way around. That's why they went after me, not you."

"That's absurd. It's just 'cause Riddle was for some ridiculous reason attracted to me, and in any case, why would any true gentleman attack a girl?" Hermione said, though fully aware that she was infatuated with Tom just as much as he was with her.

"You know how much I don't like Riddle, Hermione. But his reason for liking—and from the looks of it, even love—you is no secret. You're beautiful, smart, funny, adventurous, and a great friend. What, pray tell, is not to like?" Andy admitted, looking down.

"Well when you say it like that, it sounds like nothing is!" Hermione protested defiantly.

"Exactly."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort of all the things that she hated about herself—that many people (such as Malfoy and Pansy), had no problem in making fun of her. But something in Andy's eyes told her that she would not win the situation…and for a reason that escaped her, she found that she couldn't speak, or at least couldn't come up with a defense. Maybe he was right. Maybe there really _was _nothing wrong with her. Perhaps all the Slytherins (and even Ron) just couldn't come up with a good enough snide remark, so they just had to throw her smarts or appearance in her face. Perhaps they were…jealous? But that was absolutely ridiculous! Malfoy being jealous of the bookish, unattractive, know-it-all? What was the world coming to?

"But—But how are we supposed to prevent them from attacking you again?" Hermione asked helplessly.

"That's not the question." Antares said forcefully. "The question is—how are you going to make up with Riddle?"

Hermione was astounded, and she even vaguely felt her mouth hang open. Was he really saying what she thought he was? Her ears must have been failing her. "Excuse me? He is the most arrogant, selfish, power-hungry, egoistical jerk that I have ever—" Something about Antares's both triumphant and smug look on his face and in his eyes stopped her. She sighed. "He is the most adorable, engaging, attentive, facetious man I have ever had the delightful delectation to meet."

"I thought so." He said with a bright gleam in his eyes, not even trying to hide his enjoyment. "And more than have met, from what I've seen." He added impishly.

It took a few seconds for her to realize what he meant, and when she got it, she gasped and laughingly hit him on the arm where he pretended to grimace in pain. "Antares Nebadon Black, you are such an ass sometimes!" she said authoritatively.

"But I'm such a charming and _captivating _ass." He said flirtingly.

"Oh, shut up." She replied teasingly.

Something in Hermione broke as she realized their playful bantering and joking exhibitions. It was exactly like what she, Harry and Ron would do. How she missed them. Harry's delightful but pained and distressed eyes and demeanor, but with the occasional witty remark; Ron's idiocy, but lovable and hilarious just the same. And Hermione, always nagging them about their studies, but joining in in the occasional game, or giving them a day off, so just the three of them could wander or walk about the castle together.

She started sobbing right in front of Antares as she thought about all the good times, laughs and adventures that they all took with one another. Their determination to help each other through any hardship; their devotion and undying care with the others, no matter what the circumstances were. They would always be there for each other, and even with the rare outburst or coldness, everything would eventually turn out for the better. Hermione truly started crying when she thought about the possibility that she would never be able to see them again. Never be able to see Harry's smiling, polite, fanatical glimmer; never able to see Ron's ignorant, joking, but awkward demeanor again. Never again be able to go on late night searches in the library, or ruthlessly help them with homework while they incessantly bickered about Quidditch. They would never be the likable, sometimes annoying trio again…instead, they would be the inseparable twosome…and the lonely, solitary brainiac, never to reunite again.

She hardly heard Andy's comforting words and calming actions, as she just sat there on the cold, sterile Hospital Wing floor, crying her usually cheerful eyes out. The tears seemed to never stop. Like they were waiting for the right time to fall freely. Apparently right now was it. She hardly cared that her face was wet with them, and ignored the fact that her skirt now had spreading, dark drops on it. Not noticing any of her surroundings, but only the sadness of the likelihood of never going back. She wondered if she would even have any tears left, for they showed no signs of stopping. She hadn't even realized that Andy had taken her into his arms while she evidently rested her shaking head against his chest while he continued to try and comfort her.

"Shh, Hermione…everything will be okay. It will all turn out fine." Andy said softly.

"I-It w-w-won't." Hermione sobbed, her voice muffled in his shirt.

Hermione didn't notice the white door open, but Andy did. He looked up, and gave an exasperated but nevertheless relieved look at the enterer. He motioned with his eyes at the weeping, miserable girl in his arms. The now kneeling boy nodded in sad recognition, and Andy observed, smiling faintly, the single red rose lying temporarily forgotten on the still bed beside him. Andy glanced at it and back to the concerned and apologetic shine in Tom's dark eyes. Despite himself, Andy felt a softening occur in his heart at the sight of Tom's sincerity. Even though Andy still despised him, he couldn't help but feel a little for the heart-wrenching look that Tom had as he was staring at Hermione's still crying (and unaware) form.

"Go on. She needs you." Antares mouthed to Tom, who nodded, and even managed a small smile.

"Thank you." Tom replied gratefully. "I'm sorry."

"Hermione, there's someone that wants to say something to you." Antares said softly.

He couldn't help but watch out of the corner of his eye Tom retrieve the beautiful flower off of the bed. One petal had extricated itself from the rest, and Andy, with a mischievous glint, got an idea, but waited for the right moment, but whether it would be sooner or later, he didn't know yet. He watched Hermione's head slowly incline to look at the new arrival, but she made no move to disperse her tears, as they were still falling, albeit slightly slower. As she caught sight of Tom's endlessly brown eyes, her breath caught as she moved closer to Andy, grabbing his hand behind her back. Andy was aware of the pained and hurt look written all over the man's face, and he pulled out of Hermione's grasp, much to her silent objections. He gave her a reassuring squeeze as he lightly pressed on the small of her back, moving her closer to the dark-haired boy in front of her. She had both a dreamy and transfixed wonder on her pale face, as the final tears from her cocoa-hued eyes dropped to the ground.

Andy smiled as Hermione suddenly flung herself upon Tom, sobbing again into his defined chest, as he wrapped his arms comfortingly around her. She closed her eyes tightly as she felt trapped tears clinging to her lashes. She inhaled his sweet scent, and she witnessed a great wave of emotion pass from him all the way through her, and she no longer felt deserted, but reassured and sheltered. She had no inkling of how long exactly he had held her, but she paid no mind to it as she never got tired of it. Never in her entire sixteen years of life had she felt as safe and loved as this, and never before had she lost track of time, except in one other instance, which, consequently, had been with the same person she was now embracing.

He unexpectedly but gently pulled himself away from her, and she noticed with a phantom of a smile that Andy had left silently, and she felt more for him now than ever. He was turning out to be a mix of both Harry and Ron—brave and always had the right thing to say, but also slightly unsure of himself and even appeared like an idiot sometimes. She returned her gaze to Tom, who was now holding something, and she glanced at it, then back at him with a disbelieving look in her eyes.

"This is for you." he said quietly as he handed her the most scarlet and beautiful smelling rose to her, and she shakily accepted it. "And I'm so, so sorry, Hermione."

She had no choice but to gaze up at him, for the sincerity and seriousness in his deep voice. She barely acknowledged fresh tears falling from her glistening eyes as she continued to stare at him. She had honestly never expected to hear this tone of voice coming from Lord Voldemort. It just wasn't to be considered even. Then she realized something. Everyone back in her time had branded him as cold, merciless, cruel, and foreboding. And, yes, truth be, he did deserve it. But no one had even thought that he might have actually had a heart, no matter how much he did not show it. They just assumed from all his heartless _actions _that he didn't really have feelings. And Hermione had believed it herself. Until that comment that he made. Sure, now he was just Tom Riddle, but, as Dumbledore made every point to punctuate, he was already well on his way to becoming the Dark Lord. Not now. His eyes held truth, warmth, and joy, not ice, indifference, and spite. It was a whole other feeling for Hermione. Here he was, the most evil that you could go, showing undying compassion and empathy. One moment had gone against all her beliefs—everyone's beliefs. It was just too much to handle. She had to make sure, once and for all, that she wasn't dreaming.

She slowly set down the rose, and gradually lifted her eyes to look at him. In one quick movement, her lips were on top of his in a warm, trusting embrace. Truth be told, it was an earth-shattering, unyielding, and incredibly fiery kiss, but it was all they had been hoping and waiting for. All their frustrations and miseries and feelings were all directed unceasingly into this one burning bond. Their lips and skin heated up with each other's touch, but it only increased their want to continue. Neither hardly felt their tongues now entwined in an equally heated connection, the kiss deepening in fervor and arduousness with each passing second. The air was getting electrified with the vehemence emanating off of both of them, and for all the two observed of their surroundings, they might as well have lost all their senses. They hadn't realized that Tom was now on top of Hermione on the nearest bed, for the kiss never faltered or subsided in intensity, and, in fact, they were afraid something would happen if they were to separate. Hermione again laced her fingers through his coffee-colored hair, while sensually tracing her finger down his neck and then to his chest, but he sustained her as he gave her a harsher, more desirous, more voracious. She felt him outline the side of her face, and continue down, only to stop right at her chest. She couldn't handle it. She pulled his dark shirt off, exposing his tanned and built torso, and with the action (which surprised herself probably even more), she felt him waver, but did not break the kiss. She trailed her hand along his back, but frowned as she felt what she knew had to be a scar, extending a length of around five inches. On top of her, she noticed him shudder at her touch, and she pulled away from the kiss to look into his blazingly dark eyes. They locked gaze for a second, before he made up some decision and kissed her again, just as amorous as before.

* * *

Andy walked up the stairs outside the Hospital Wing, pleased with himself. Though he didn't have Hermione, he knew she was truly happy, and that right now was all that mattered.

"_After all,"_ he thought, _"the world is full of hopeless romantics just waiting to get a piece of this."_

He was so caught up as he envisioned his perfect woman, that he didn't even notice the fact that he was about to run into a certain black-haired boy. "Miles. Come to try and kill me again?" Andy said, his voice dripping with spite.

To his surprise, Mulciber's eyes shimmered, as if he was contemplating his answer. "No. Just going to find Riddle. You seen him?" he asked, almost in a friendly or acquaintance type of way.

"Excuse me? You expect me to tell you anything after you nearly ended my life?" Andy asked incredulously.

"Wrong again. And in my defense, I didn't harm you. I just need to find him."

Antares laughed heartily. He couldn't believe this. "You were still _there! _In any case, you're right. And, yeah, I have seen him—Hospital Wing." At Miles's move to brush past him, Antares held out a forceful hand. "But I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

"And why the hell not?"

"Two words." Andy answered. "Granger. Riddle."

Disgusted comprehension dawned on Mulciber's dark face. "Oh. Right. Thanks, and I owe you."

"What? Conscience caught up with you?"

"You could say that."

"Who knew that a—what are you called? Oh yeah. Who knew that a 'Knight of Walpurgis' has a heart?"

"Shocking, I know. Look, I'm sorry, Black, but you don't know how it is to be caught in the wrong crowd." Miles confessed. Antares was getting almost frightened at this guy's seemingly defeated actions. "I was going to be tortured if I didn't join. You think I want my arm branded? Not on your life. Unfortunately for me, I had no choice. Just give me a chance. I'm not like Avery. Now I don't expect you to be friends with me—I don't want to be friends with you either—but just don't fatally hex me behind my back."

Antares looked suspiciously at Mulciber's outstretched hand. He seemed so truthful. Andy sighed, and realized fully that he was taking a great leap of faith. Very slowly, almost like signing over his soul, he reached out and shook Miles's hand. He had expected something to happen, perhaps a jolt of pain or at least _something_, but that was what bothered him. Nothing happened. It was just a normal, boring but trustful ultimatum.

* * *

"Tom." Hermione said delicately. He looked at her as she leaned against his now-clothed chest. She was now sitting in between his legs, his arms around her. "You said that you could never become evil with me around, didn't you?"

"Yes…" he confirmed, not quite sure where she was going with it.

"I need to show you something. And hopefully it will convince you not to be."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione grabbed her wand from the bedside table, raised it, and pointed it towards the door, aware of Tom's bewildered expression. _"Accio Pensieve!"_

It took a few moments, but finally Hermione heard a whistling sound, and something came shooting threw the door as she caught it. A stone bowl with strange etchings in the sides in an unknown language, Hermione peered into it. She felt Tom look in beside her. Inside was a swirling substance that was not quite liquid, but not quite vaporous either. Memories. Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she concentrated on the time when Harry had shown her and Ron his remembrance of the night that Cedric Diggory died—the night Lord Voldemort returned.

She disentangled herself from Tom, moving over so her feet dangled over the edge of the bed. Pulling the small table towards her, she set the bowl with its swirling contents on it. Meeting Tom's guarded but perplexed gaze, she motioned for him to join her. Reluctantly, he followed her example, the table in front of them. Ever so slowly, Hermione took her wand and placed it to the side of her head and again concentrated on the night of the horrifying third task. Feeling a slight resistance but relent, Tom watched, transfixed, as she extracted a silvery, stringy substance which was clinging to her wand. Satisfied but worried just the same, she cast the essence into the stone basin, and Tom frowned in amazement as he saw a black-haired, green-eyed boy with such a grisly and terrified look on his face that even Tom had to look away. With surprising urgency and force, Hermione wrenched his arm around, and compelled his face so close to the mysterious wisps that his nose was nearly touching it. With an unsettling falling sensation, Tom felt as though he was falling down, down, down to the center of what looked like a maze. There was a gleaming cup in the center, and Tom had the odd urge to go and touch it, but one look at the girl beside him refrained him.

He watched as that same young boy was calling to another older, more handsome one to take the cup. It was obvious the younger one was in great pain, and Tom noticed his leg was bloodied up and even looked greenish. The older boy refused, and helped the first up. Hermione was standing and watching with an unidentifiable image over her face, her hands clasped in front of her, and Tom would have thought she was immobile if her hands hadn't been shaking violently. Tom must have missed something, because now both boys were reaching for the cup, then vanished. Tom risked a glance at Hermione, who was still wearing the same impassive look. With sudden force, he felt like he was spinning in a horrible vortex, and immediately he was transported to what looked like a graveyard. He looked up, a bit disoriented, and saw strangely the green-eyed boy tied to a tombstone, and he noticed a man which could only be described as rat-liked doing something beneath a cauldron.

Glancing around further in trepidation, he sickeningly noticed something, and his stomach gave an unpleasantly nauseous lurch. Lying on the ground with his arms at slightly odd angles, was the immensely handsome boy with his gray eyes open, his mouth barely open as if surprised. He didn't blink, and Tom could not see the boy's chest rise or fall. Cringing and feeling his heart twang hurtfully, he couldn't help but feel his throat close up. Who would do this? The boy had a life to live. He couldn't be more than seventeen—Tom's age. Tom noticed a silver gleam on the boy's mud-splattered robes. A Prefect's badge. What motive exactly would compel someone to kill this boy? From the looks of it, he was smart—why else would he become Prefect?—handsome, liked by all, and, to describe him in one word…thriving. Tom had to tear his gaze away from fear of even a single tear to fall for this man lying in front of him. Sadly, he saw Hermione, although in the same inscrutable position, was crying silently, but for the gray-eyed man or the green-eyed, he didn't know.

Tom abruptly got the eerie feeling that they were being watched, and his skin prickled with anticipation. He forced himself to look at the cauldron (Hermione was looking there, too, but her face showed that she expected it), but as he did so, his heart felt like it exploded as he heard the most sickening yell he had ever encountered. The worst wasn't the volume, for it was not at a shrieking pitch, no. It was a yell of pain…of anguish…of sincere, ghastly terror. He whirled around to the boy that was tied to the gravestone, and he found out where the source was. The boy's arm was now dripping blood along with his leg, and Tom noticed a lightning bolt-shaped scar on the boy's forehead, appearing so because of his sweat-drenched hair. Tom sincerely felt for this boy, for he couldn't be more than fourteen or fifteen at the time, so what evil would force this obviously unprepared kid to endure that pain?

Tom followed the boy's squinted gaze towards the center of the graveyard, and immediately wished he hadn't, for right at that very moment, the rat-like man cut off his hand in a mirthless scream, the knife in his hand dripping crimson liquid. The man muttered some sort of spell, but the only words Tom could make out were the ending words: '_—shall rise again._' Tom did not like this at all, and got a bad sense of foreboding as he desperately wanted to return to the school. He glanced again at the tearing Hermione, whose hands were no longer clasped, but gripped into fists at her sides, but were still shaking horridly, but this time Tom believed it was from intense anger.

His head, obviously against his will, looked up at the pathetic man, but he was not there anymore. Instead, a thing that looked like a baby—only it couldn't be a baby, could it?—was rising out of the bubbling cauldron, which Tom noticed had turned a dark red in color. The being was slowly growing until it reached the size of approximately a full-grown man. The cauldron vanished, as the man took its place, now standing up. Tom heard the boy behind him scream louder, but Tom was still mesmerized by the form, who now, Tom realized, was definitely a bald man.

Then Tom heard it. The most frightenly cold and hissing voice he could imagine. He just about lost it right there, but he found he couldn't go anywhere. He even observed that Hermione's normally beautiful face was scrunched up into one of hatred, and her knuckles were turning white. Tom knew, though he didn't know the reason, that she wanted nothing more than to kill him. There was something wrong with that man, though. His head was whiter than normal—as white as a human skull. The voice was too high—too sinister and inhuman. The flexing fingers were too long and narrow, and his head was oddly proportioned once you looked at it closely.

"M-My L-Lord." Tom heard the pitiful excuse of a man stutter.

This 'Lord' turned around slowly, his robes billowing strangely, and if Tom's voice worked, even he, the strong and intimidating Tom Marvolo Riddle, would have gasped loudly, or even give a hoarse whimper. It was now obvious that Hermione was about to go crazy with hate, and Tom had half a mind to comfort her, but knew that was a bad idea. He chanced a look back at the boy still tied to the tombstone, and immediately felt more for the boy's strength, for he looked like he was about to black out, but was holding on…with what power, Tom did not know.

Still, when Tom forced his gaze back to the Lord and his servant, he cringed visibly. The man's eyes were not brown, blue, green, or even hazel, but instead a bright, unnatural red; as red as the cauldron's liquid. He didn't have a normal nose, and in place of one that could only be attributed to that of a snake, and in fact if the slitted nostrils hadn't been moving slowly, he wouldn't have known it was a nose. The man's lips were bloodless and as white as his face, villainously thin and evil. Tom hadn't the slightest idea why Hermione was showing him this. Why did she want him to see this horrifying creature? Was it really one of her memories? Did this actually happen…or was it one of her dreams? Was the injured boy real? If so, was he alive? What would happen to this obviously Dark Lord? Tom's mind was whirling uncomfortably with questions—even to the point of throbbing.

Suddenly, the scene switched, and as he looked to Hermione again to ask her what happened, he noticed her eyes were screwed up in concentration, and he knew she fast forwarded the memory. Her eyes snapped open, but she still did not look at him, but instead at the events now unfolding. Now, Tom and Hermione were surrounded by people in skull masks, hoods over their heads. There were spaces in between some, and the Lord seemed to be displeased as he walked around slowly, causing flinches from some of the cloaked men and women. He seemed to be explaining something, but Tom only got the gist of it as he only heard some of his speech. It went on for an eternity in Tom's mind, and he could see the boy's strength dwindling, and Tom caught Hermione give the boy what would have been a reassuring look if he could see her.

The man said something in his hissing voice, and he walked briskly over to where the boy was sitting. One abnormally long finger was pressed to the boy's scar, and then the air was pierced gruesomely by the boy's horrible screams. Tom didn't know what was wrong with the boy, but he knew something was. Not knowing exactly what he was doing, he ran—glided rather—over and tried to pull the man's hand away from the boy, but his arm only went through the Lord, and nothing happened. Tom looked helplessly to the boy and his heart shattered over and over again with rage and fear and misery. What could this young boy have done to deserve this evil? He, like the deceased boy, looked troubled and saddened, but generally happy and adventurous. So what would warrant this treatment? Tom didn't understand, but all he could do was watch. The man took his had away, though the boy was still gasping for breath, his chest coming in huge heaves of pain. Tom wished he could help him. Then the man spoke again.

"Wormtail." the man said abruptly. It was like the sound had been turned on, and Tom could hear every word. "Untie Harry and give him back his wand."

The rat-like human shuffled over, holding his injured arm, and fumbled with the ropes binding the boy. Finally, he got them undone, but the boy just slumped up against the stone, appearing to have lost the will to live.

"Pick it up!" the Lord commanded. Harry (Tom mulled the name over in his head, and he funnily enough felt a more personal connection to this mysterious boy), struggled to find his wand, his leg looking like it was hurting worse than ever.

Incredibly, Harry stood up, his defeated green eyes burning with anguish and utmost, almost scary, loathing. "Now, bow. Come on, Harry, the niceties must be observed. Dumbledore wouldn't want you to forget your manners." The man said softly but demandingly.

Harry clenched his jaw (for pain or defiance, Tom didn't know), but did not do as he requested. The Lord pointed his wand at Harry, and Tom heard the word, _"Imperio." _Harry started to decline his head, but, to Tom's amazement, he must have fought off the Unforgivable. Tom now felt his heart swoop with respect and surprise for the boy, and was hoping this Lord would rot in hell with the rest of the masked men.

"I WON'T!" Harry screamed. So he had fought it off. Tom glanced expectantly at the Lord, who, incredibly, smiled. But it was a dark, cold smile that chilled Tom's bones.

"You won't?" the Lord whispered evilly. The man raised his wand again, but it was stopped. Hermione must have not have wanted him to see whatever happened. Tom's mind swirled with possible explanations, but he didn't have time to dwell on it, for the man was speaking again.

"Don't you run away from me, boy! I want to see you fall! I want to see the light leave your eyes!"

Tom prayed and hoped that the boy would live. His muscles clamped up in anxious anticipation. Harry came out from a gravestone. The boy's face was set, his astonishingly green eyes flashing dangerously with venom and there was no trace of fear in them. Tom watched (not like he had any other choice) as Harry spoke to the man.

"Have it your way then." Tom detected no wavering in it, despite the boy's condition, and it was filled with determination and strength.

Two spells were shot from two wands—one from Harry's and one from the Lord's.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _Was shouted as a bright green light shot from it, just as—

"_Expelliarmus!" _Was exclaimed as a red light shot out.

The two beams connected, causing a bright burst of light came forth, and Tom forced one last look at the boy as for some reason he was propelled upward. He nearly fell back, but stayed steady, though his head felt flighty. He felt a stare on him, and was met with the watery, tear-filled eyes of Hermione. Even though she was sitting right in front of him, he could not get his mind off of Harry. The look of the boy's eyes as he was facing that powerful man; a young boy surrounded by all evil adults, without one ounce of fear; willing to fight to the death. He was still wondering why Hermione showed him this. She seemed to read his mind.

"You want to know why you were shown that awful scene? You want to know who that man was?" she asked rhetorically.

He couldn't speak, but gave a shaking nod.

"That man was you, Tom. That disgusting, as evil as they come, terrible creature was _you."_

Tom felt all the blood leave his face, and everything went black as he fell backward, but the last image in his mind was that mirthlessly laughing, garnet-eyed man; the emerald-pooled, black-haired, young boy with the lightning bolt-shaped scar.

* * *

**Dark, I know. Sorry, but I had to include that scene, just to show tom's reaction. Hope y'all liked it though. Thanks to:**

**Angelic Bladez (**haha, no one likes avery or miles, do they?**), Moonstone, MandaPandaAR, Jessi Brooke, Caitlin, san01, a walk in the dark (**yes, it was an asskicking review!**), amoramor (**thanks SO much!**), hermionegranger2007, Stranger, Chou hime, chipped-nails (**as always**), Mrs Pierre BOuvier (**I fantasize also…**), Hello Lita (**wow…you liked it that much? Of COURSE you can translate it! Want to give me the link once you do? Haha**), tallgiraffe32** no, she hasn't, and maybe they will…**), BlueEyedFairy, Indaic, Purplebubble (**me too, and yes, tom has feelings:) **), kat (**thanks a million!**), and grounded angel. Wow, lots of people. **


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Tom woke up with a very peculiar feeling in his head. He must have blacked out, because he couldn't remember anything from the past few hours…not to mention his growing headache. He thought and thought, but he could not come up with something that had happened, and it was starting to annoy him. Then he spotted a stone basin on the bed table next to him and he groaned as it all started coming back to him. He now wished it hadn't, because the disgustingly white face with scarlet eyes came flooding to the front of his mind. But it wasn't just the face that gave him the frightening, ghastly feeling. It was the high-pitched, merciless, unforgiving laugh that accompanied it in glaring eeriness. Briefly, the image of the dark-haired, apple-eyed boy drifted into his brain; the one tied to a hard and cold gravestone against his will. Then, the picture that was probably worst of all—the gristly scene of the handsome, smart, and brave boy lying on the ground, slain so carelessly…never to wake up again. He kept his eyes open for fear of remembering more unfriendly pictures, but new ones overcame him now, even in consciousness.

A voice appeared to his right, calm and patient. "Tom? Tom, wake up."

He again closed his eyes, but the laugh would not go away. Simultaneously, he opened them again and twisted his head to look at her. "What." He said lazily.

"Tom, I didn't mean to shock you that much." She said.

He felt himself getting angry. Maybe his ears were going also. "Excuse me? You didn't think it would _shock _me that much? You just told me that the ugliest, coldest, cruelest person—is he even a person, Hermione?—is…is…ME! How did you think I'd take it?" he yelled.

She didn't flinch or start crying like he expected her to. She just sat there, staring. It was almost worse than showing emotion. "You needed to see what you would become. You needed to see why you have to change. You saw that boy in pain tied to the gravestone? He's my best friend in the whole world. His name is Harry James Potter, and that was _you _torturing him. You can't seriously want to become that creature, do you?" she said, almost monotonously. Her every word stung him until he felt numb all over. She was right.

"If—If Harry, you say, is alright, what about that other boy? The one on the ground? He turned out fine, too, didn't he?" Tom asked shakily, though somehow, deep down, knowing the answer.

Hermione's stare never faltered, though her eyes now shone with tears. "No, Tom, he isn't. Cedric Diggory. That was his name. Wormtail killed him with your wand. Without even the slightest bit of thought. You saw that baby-looking being? That was you before you became essentially human. You want to know what you said? _'Kill the spare.' _The _spare, _Tom! Cedric was not a spare. He didn't deserve to die, and yet you killed him. Harry—did not deserve to be tortured like that. You want to know something? Harry has fought you every single goddamn year he was at school, with the exception of our third. In total—he has fought you five times, Tom! And he hasn't died. Doesn't that mean anything? It means he will never give up. Never! He is stronger than anyone has ever expected. At only 14, he got away from you, carrying Cedric's body and the cup! He got back injured but safe, only to be surrounded by screams over what people saw and then get interrogated, but not after he was deceived by someone he trusted! Please tell me you don't want to cause all of that, Tom! Please!"

She was shedding a few tears now, although her voice stayed as strong as ever. Tom listened to her intently, becoming all the more disgusted with each sentence. Had he really done those things? Had he really commanded this man—Wormtail—to kill that boy, Cedric? Without giving it any thought? Just murdering him right there? Had he really caused Harry and Hermione that much physical and emotional pain? He was absolutely revolted by himself. He would even go as far as to say he was frightened of himself. He didn't know what events exactly caused him to transform into that beyond evil man, but he did know one thing. And that was that he would never turn into…_that. _No matter what would happen, he would not torture people like that. People that have done nothing to him, or people that didn't deserve to have anything happen to them. He would not be that person.

"Hermione, listen." Tom started, taking an uncertain breath and staring at his hands. "I don't know what turn of events occurred to make me look and act like that, I really don't. But I can promise you now…I promise on my life…that that will not be me. Please believe me, Hermione. Look at my eyes, and tell me—do I look like the person that would want to cause intense pain to your friend Harry, or kill people without a care in the world? Because I don't. And I won't."

Hermione did not manage a smile, but her eyes sparkled. She never moved from her sitting position by his bed, but she fidgeted a little. "I believe you, Tom. Just don't you dare let me down. Don't you _dare_ go back on your promise. I want to show you two more of my memories. Just to confirm that you really mean what you say. They are happier than the one you just saw, and they show Harry's attributes. How strong he really is. You ready?"

Tom nodded, and Hermione moved to where the bowl was and once again closed her eyes, putting her wand tip to her temple and extracting a silver substance. This time, Tom did not see Harry in the bowl, but instead a dark lake, and two shadowy figures by what looked like a wood. He followed Hermione's example of putting his head into the mass, and felt the familiar yet unnerving swirling sensation as he was delved into Hermione's memory.

He fell to the damp ground, expecting to feel pain, but it never came. A hand reached down to help him get up, and he saw Hermione was already on her feet. She regained her position at staring across the lake, but Tom took to looking around. He nearly jumped back in amazement, but even so, he stumbled a bit. Standing but seven feet from them was a younger Hermione watching the same scene with a younger Harry. He stared at the present-day Hermione in question, but she didn't look at him. He followed her gaze, and saw two men—a man probably in his 30s, but he was very thin and looked weak; also, a certain familiar black-haired boy…

Now Tom was really getting weirded out. Not only was there two Harrys, but also two Hermiones, all of different ages. And now, to worsen his reeling brain, a hundred gliding figures in ragged cloaks came soaring slowly down to where Harry and the man were. Even though he was not affected by them, his bones still turned to ice at the sight of the impending dementors. He watched in utter horror as they started to suck the life out of the two human beings at the edge of the frozen lake. He saw silver wisps project limply from the younger Harry's wand, when, after the third try, he started to fall. As he did, Tom caught a movement out of his peripheral vision.

The older Harry had sprung up from his position by Hermione, and ran up to the edge of the lake. Holding out his wand, he shouted something and a bright, silver stag erupted out of the tip. Tom's eyebrows rose dramatically as he recognized it as a Patronus—a _corporeal _Patronus. He watched as the stag galloped hurriedly across the ice and start charging at the dementors. As the deer's antlers hit each of the dementors, they slid away as if branded. Tom tore his gaze away for a moment to look at Hermione, but to his disappointment, she almost looked bored as she was watching the scene unfold. Tom directed his stare back to the young Harry just in time as he saw him pass out cold on the hard lake rocks…but not before giving older Harry a strange look as if he thought he was someone that shouldn't be there. Tom's Hermione now touched his arm, and in a flash of light, they fell into some sort of stadium stands.

Tom recognized it immediately as the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. This time when he looked at Hermione, she had an excited glow about her as she watched. Tom's lips twitched as he, too, looked up upon the field. The game was in play—he found what Hermione was looking at. Clad in scarlet and gold robes was a boy lying attentively on a polished and new broomstick, his green eyes darting around. From what Tom knew, Harry must have been Seeker—he was the right build, his arms jerked every so often as he would notice something, and he was flying high above the others. Tom was about to ask Hermione exactly what they were doing at a Quidditch game, when Harry made a sudden move. There was a collective gasp around the stadium as they watched the young man press his body against the broom.

The other team's seeker was tightly following Harry, but Harry was still way ahead. Harry was streaking towards the ground in a blur of gold, red, black, and green, and was now so close to the sand that Tom was sure he was going to crash. Apparently so did the other Seeker—he was now circling above Harry. As the boy was probably half a foot from colliding with the solid dirt, he pulled out of his extreme dive, his shoes touching the grass. Tom's eyes widened in astonishment and respect as the boy jumped off his broom, clutching tightly in his right hand a tiny, fluttering, gold ball. Harry James Potter had won the game.

Hermione, now smiling broadly with pride as she looked upon Harry's grinning face, grabbed Tom's arm again, and this time there was no flash, but instead a swooping feeling, and once again they were on the Hospital Wing bed. Hermione, still smiling, pushed the table slowly away from them, and turned her head towards Tom. She stared at him for a few moments, before raising her eyebrow as if to tell him her point was proven. He returned her look, only with one of feigned bewilderment.

"Don't you see, Tom?" Hermione said excitedly. "Harry's not only brave and strong, but he possesses so many other qualities. In that first memory, that was in our third year—he was 13. He produced a stunningly solid stag Patronus to drive over one hundred dementors away from his younger self and his godfather. I will explain what that scene was if you would like…but later. In the second memory, you were witnessing the final game of Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and Harry won the Quidditch Cup using something called the Wonky—sorry, _Wronski_—Feint. He's not only an exceptional flier (which he is), but he is also strong mentally, physically, and magically, and an extraordinarily brave and a wonderful, true friend. Why, you ask, would anyone want to hurt him? I cannot answer that, Tom, for the answer lies within you. Ask yourself that question, Tom, and think hard. Is there any reason? Any at all?"

Tom, foolishly, did indeed think as he stared absentmindedly at the blanket on the bed, his vision sliding out of focus as he concentrated. He wracked his intelligent brain for any scrap of an answer, but none came to him. Images of Hermione's three memories flashed slowly through his mind—of the maze, the graveyard, Cedric, Voldemort, Wormtail, the Death Eaters; the dementors, the two Harry and Hermiones, Harry's godfather; finally, Harry diving down and winning the Quidditch Cup. He again tried to come up with a response, but the bare truth was that there wasn't one. He _didn't _want to cause all that pain and suffering. He didn't want to hurt Hermione.

"No, Hermione. There's not." He said bluntly.

Her forehead creased in a nameless emotion or thought, and she did not smile, but instead frown. Like she didn't believe him. Tom felt his anger rising again as he looked at her expression. Why didn't she think he was telling the truth? _Why? _He rolled his eyes at himself as he battled himself internally.

"_Hmm…let's think, genius." _The realistic and sarcastic voice said.

"But why? I've given her recent reason to trust me!" the hopeful one replied.

"_Yeah. Recent reason. Or have you not taken in anything she's shown you?"_

"Of course. Why do you think I feel like crap?"

"_Because you just found out you nearly killed Harry, hurt Hermione, and did kill Cedric!"_

"Oh. Right. Well, I guess she does have a point."

"_I always win. I love it."_

"Shut up."

"You don't trust me, do you." Tom said tonelessly, still not looking at Hermione.

"I'm predestined not to! It's been wonderful these past few days…like something out of a twisted dream. But I can't ignore the fact—no matter how hard I try—that you turn out to be the most sadistic and cruel person known to man and wizardkind! You don't really expect me to just drop all of my future knowledge and forget everything you've done, do you?" she cried, as if daring him to contradict her.

He didn't dare risk her fury. "No. I don't. I guess it's just rather hard for me to imagine everything. And I know," he added quickly, looking at her retorting expression, "everything you've told me must be true because I trust you…but it's just…I don't know. I mean, how would you feel if you wake up one day as the amazingly talented and revered Hermione Granger, and then find out in the worst possible way that in the future you turn out to be the evilest sorceress in the world? That's how it is for me, Hermione. The whole concept of it is a bit hard to grasp." He said truthfully, trying to put it into context, but he couldn't put the feeling into words.

"Yes, I suppose it is. But please don't become that man. Please don't, Tom. I don't think I could handle it. Seeing you become him would almost be worse than experiencing his wrath. It just—I don't think I could go back to my time and tell Harry that I helped you not become Voldemort, yet then I find out that you have. I would never forgive myself!" Hermione exclaimed, giving a small yell of frustration.

Tom's blood ran cold, and he could have sworn his heart stopped beating. He thought he would die if she really meant what she had said. "G—Go back?" he stammered in disbelief.

Hermione looked at him, a certain distressing sadness in her eyes. "Tom, I have to. My whole life is with them! I mean, I have a life here, too, but it's only a half-life, Tom. I don't know anyone here; everything I have ever known is in the future! How can I stay here? If I did, I'd be being selfish and inconsiderate of—of Harry, of Ron, of my parents, of everyone! I came back to stop you becoming evil, and you've promised me you wouldn't, so my mission is done! I can't stay here any longer, Tom. I shudder to think of the damage I've done by being here this long. Don't you see? The longer I stay here, the more effect it will have in the future! Harry might not even exist!" she explained convincingly.

Tom knew she was right, but it broke his heart to think of losing her right as he was beginning to care for her. The world was so unfair. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Right. No problem…" he said brusquely, but he knew his face and eyes betrayed his crude tone of voice.

She reached up a hand and held it to his face, where she felt it burn underneath her. "Tom, I—you know how much I would like to stay, but I—I just _can't _Tom! It's not meant to be. You and I—it's been wonderful, but it's just not in the cards right now. I'm sorry." She took her hand down and looked away in shame.

He stared at her for a few moments, taking in everything about her. Her honey-almond, expressional eyes; her golden-brown, slightly untamed hair; her glowing, bright and cheerful face…her caring devotion. He couldn't believe one smart, talented girl could hold so much of it. He knew she would die to save Harry…that she would stay with him to the very ends of the earth, no matter what. She had put on such an indifferent persona, but lately he could see through it. She missed her own time like nothing else. He felt horrible and selfish inside—he had taken advantage of her coming here and didn't think of her well-being and how she was coping emotionally. He had gotten angry at her so many times, for small, petty reasons and frankly, he didn't see how those mattered now. All he knew was that he couldn't live without her. Even if she did go back, he had to make his intentions known.

"Her—Hermione…" he stammered, taking a silent but deep breath. She looked at him with dimly sparkling eyes. "I love you."

She stared at him in utter shock and she looked like she thought she was hallucinating. Her mouth was open in the slightest way, and for as still as she was being, she could have been a marble statue. "W—What?" she finally managed to say, though it was in a sort of hoarse whisper.

"I love you." he repeated, liking the taste of the words on his mouth. So this is what it felt like to love. He had always thought it was for weaklings and people who were all feeling and no power or strength. He had been wrong. About everything. He really couldn't believe he was professing his love to someone he had only met but little over a week ago. When he had never said those words to _anyone _in his entire 17 years of existence. It was simply surreal and logically incomprehensible…yet…it felt so right.

"I—you—you c-can't l-love m-m-me!" Hermione spluttered, the stunned look not yet gone from her now flushed face.

"I can, and I do." He said confidently.

To his horrific surprise, Hermione got up unsteadily from the bed, her head in her hands. She was shaking it from side to side, as if in denial…or rejection. "No…no…not now…not here…not with him…" she was muttering to herself.

Tom only caught a few words, but each one hurt him more than the next. "Harry…murderer…Voldemort…I can't…no…" How could he prove to her he wasn't that man? What more could he give her than his word and his…his _love? _Against his will, he was again getting frustrated extremely fast. At her, at the world, at himself, at everything. His aggravation steadied for a second as he realized this was probably the first thing that had to go in his change. Damn, this would be harder than he thought.

"Hermione." He said, wondering if she would tell him what he was asking himself. She didn't seem to pay attention. "Hermione." He said louder.

She stopped her pacing, but she didn't look at him. "What." came the muffled reply.

"What can I do to _prove _to you that _I'm not evil_?" he said forcefully.

This time she took her hands away from her face to reveal eyes welling up with new tears. She sighed in exasperation, but he wasn't sure whether it was at him or herself. "Tom, please. Just—Just give me a few minutes, okay? It's kind of a lot to handle. The whole 'you saying you won't turn out to be evil' when in reality I'm not sure I can trust you because, I mean, come on. What evidence besides your word has there been? Then you go and claim that you l-love me? The great Tom Riddle who is genetically incapable of love saying that to a girl he met shortly over a week ago? It's just too much right now." she said emotionally, going back to pacing, but keeping her eyes forward.

Tom kept his head still, although his dark eyes were sliding back and forth, watching her every move. He was trying to think of things to say, but every time he came across the start of a sentence, it would all fall apart, and he would be back to square one again. He clenched his teeth, attempting to think of something to do, however, she wasn't helping his brainstorming at all, considering she was just walking in the same line back and forth. Vaguely, he wondered what had kept her so attentive with Black, and he found himself getting…though he absolutely hated to admit it…_jealous. _Why did she have to make his life so complicated? One minute he was all fine and perfect being controlling over people, the smartass of the whole school, and having more than the occasional girl fawning over him. The next, she comes into his life and everything just demolishes itself? The irony was very slowly killing him.

He was suddenly aware that the target his eyes had been following had stopped, her face set in a way showing she was making some sort of decision. She took a shaky breath and opened her mouth, but closed it. He arched an eyebrow at her, and she glared at him mockingly. For a moment or two, they locked gaze, amber eyes meeting coffee ones. Apparently his voice didn't work anymore, or otherwise he was put under a Silencing Spell, for he couldn't form any comprehensible words. So he was glad she finally made up her mind of what she was going to say.

Taking another breath, but not breaking eye contact, she began. "Tom, I—I don't really know how to say this, but—"

She walked over (their eyes were still bored into each other's), and sat on the bed. He swallowed as he tried to extract information from her eyes, but was unsuccessful. "I—I've never said this before…I love you too, Tom."

He stopped blinking as he stared into her abashed and blushing face. Slowly, he tilted her chin up, and kissed her full on the lips for a few seconds before he looked her in the eyes. "But you have to leave. I get it." He said, unable to keep the mournfulness out of his voice.

"Yeah…I have to…" she agreed, slightly breathless, her eyes showing her sadness.

"Well you should probably go get ready." He stated, possibly a bit colder than he meant to.

"Yes. I'll be back to say goodbye I suppose."

He watched her limp form walk slowly out the door, and although he should be head-over-heels in sadness, he couldn't help but feel a little elated. She loved him. This was remarkable. Now he would _really _have to go find Antares and thank him.

"_But," _he thought, _"after I say goodbye…"

* * *

_

Hermione flung herself to the ground and pulled her knees up to her, crying. She didn't know why exactly…she had gotten the cold, heartless Tom Riddle to say he loved her, and she had returned it. So why did she feel so miserable? This is what she wanted…wasn't it? She was a mess of emotions and feelings, and her visible tears hardly showed what agony and distress she was feeling inside. That was the bad thing about thoughts and sadness…no one could tell really how bad you felt internally. She was faintly aware of a splash somewhere near her, but she didn't think anything of it until she felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her right shoulder.

She looked to her right, and saw a ghostly hand resting on her arm. Hermione was now grateful for it, for it numbed her now. "Oh. Hey, Myrtle." She said dully.

"What happened? It was Riddle, wasn't it? I can haunt him for you if you want, you know." She said, a little too gleefully for Hermione's comfort.

"No," she said quickly, "that won't be necessary, Myrtle."

Myrtle's face fell as she resumed her sympathetic—and rare—look. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry."

Hermione's head whipped around to stare at the young ghost. For the first time, she was glad Myrtle was there when no one else was. Hermione had always thought of her as boring, sensitive, and annoying, always doing the most irritating things. Now, however, Hermione saw a worried, empathetic, and comforting girl who anyone could confide into. Hermione smiled, the first true smile in a while, and she wished Myrtle was solid so she could hug her and just cry. Just the same, Hermione looked at her with tear-filled eyes and laid her head on her knee, looking over at the transparent spirit.

"Myrtle, I just don't k-know w-what to d-d-do!" Hermione wept.

"Well you have to go back, don't you?" Myrtle asked softly.

"Of course I do! My whole life is there! I don't even know how much has changed with me just being here! Harry m-m-might not e-even ex-exist! I've completely screwed everything up, haven't I? I was just trying to help, and look at what a goddamn mess of it I've made! This is _horrible, _Myrtle! What do I do?" she sobbed.

Myrtle, it seemed, found this amusing. She started laughing quietly, though her hand was still floating reassuringly on Hermione's shoulder. With a deathly glare, Hermione slowly turned her head to look at the shaking ghost. She gritted her teeth in annoyance, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. She couldn't stop Myrtle, no matter how hard she tried. Perhaps _this _was what Myrtle thought was funny? If it was, she had a really sick sense of humor.

"And what," Hermione asked through clenched teeth. "is so funny!"

The ghost stopped laughing, but still snickered. "Oh, Hermione, isn't it obvious?" Myrtle said, as if it was the most blatant thing in the world. Hermione stared at her in impatience. "You need to bring him back with you!"

Hermione was one inch away from fainting. Was Myrtle _joking? _Take Tom back with her? Now she knew Myrtle was crazy. Harry and Ron were right. Harry and Ron…oh how she missed them. Their stupid, juvenile jokes, their laid-back manner, their startling adorability, their everything. Maybe Myrtle was right? Would it be possible to take Tom back with her? What would it change?

"_Hermione." _Her rational side chastised herself. _"Don't you go getting far-fetched ideas now, too. You know that's impossible. It would set off the dimensional balance. Think about it. If you take Tom Riddle back with you, there will be two of the same soul living in one world. You have to stabilize it. That's what Dumbledore was talking about when he was telling you about how awful things happened to people who mess with time. This is one of them, Hermione! Don't be all lovestruck now. When you have to make one of the most important decisions of your life. Think if it went wrong!"_

She sighed in defeat. Her conscience was right. She couldn't take him back with her. But she could take as much of him with her as she could. "Thank you, Myrtle. Thanks a lot. I'll see you in the future!" Hermione said, running off.

Hermione started hurrying out of Myrtle's bathroom and down the halls. Suddenly, she felt temporarily blinded as she saw spots in her eyes. She blinked and looked around to where it had come from and came across a rather excited looking boy with big eyes and…a camera.

"Sorry, Miss. I haven't seen you before and I need a picture of everyone." He said, fairly quickly.

"Hey!" Hermione called as he started to walk away. "What's your name?"

"Oh. Andrew. Andrew Creevey." He replied shakily.

Something flickered in Hermione's brain. _Where _had she heard that before? She gasped in recognition. Colin! "Hey, can you do me like a huge favor?" she asked desperately.

He looked at her in confusion, but also in gratitude. "Sure! What?"

"I need you to take a picture."

* * *

"Tom. I can't bring you back with me. I just can't." Hermione said sadly. She had asked Andrew to wait outside while she told Tom.

"Yeah. I figured." He said sadly.

"But I did find a way for us to remember each other forever." She said timidly.

His eyes glimmered with disappointment, and Hermione took a deep breath. "I could never forget you…Hermione Granger." He replied quietly, looking down.

She would not cry. She just _wouldn't. _"Just a second."

"Andrew! Andrew?" she asked, not seeing him and her heart sinking.

Then a figure zoomed in front of her, and she got startled as his eager face appeared in hers. "Yes?" he said, absolutely shaking in excitement. If she hadn't been so miserable, she might have laughed. But as it was…

She led him into the room, and Tom looked up, but his face got impassive and he put on a sneer. "What is _this _doing here?" he said rudely.

"He is going to take a picture of us and duplicate it so we can both have one. Please don't ever forget me." She explained, feeling a knot in her stomach.

Andrew looked away, pointedly. Hermione had to give the kid credit—at least he was more sensitive than Colin was. "You ready?" he said, his eyes still in the other direction.

"Yeah." Hermione said. She got an idea.

Wrapping her arms around Tom's neck, she kissed him very impetuously and lovingly, and although he wasn't expecting it, he took hold of her waist and returned it. They were only slightly aware of the flash that encased them, but paid it no mind. Hermione was the first to realize that they were still in Andrew's company, and she blushed as she tore herself apart from Tom. Andrew was pretending to be playing with his camera, but Hermione knew he was just waiting.

"Thank you, Andrew. I owe you one." She said, alerting his attention. "How fast can you make them?"

"Oh, really fast!" he exclaimed proudly. Taking out his wand, he muttered a spell with his face screwed up in concentration. There was a puff of purple smoke, and suddenly Andrew was holding a pile of pictures.

He started to hand the top one to Hermione, but stopped, as he put on a sheepish grin and put it back on top of the stack. Hermione and Tom put on skeptical looks, but watched him just the same. Taking out his wand again, he muttered, _"Effingo." _

Hermione was very impressed as he performed a perfect Duplicating Spell. She had to wonder why Colin and Dennis hadn't inherited their grandfather's magical ability. Andrew picked up the two pictures and gave one to Hermione and one to Tom. Hermione gave him a warm smile, and she could even tell that Tom was slightly (but not amazingly) awed by Andrew's talent—both in spells and photography.

He looked Andrew in the eyes. "Thank you, Andrew."

Andrew nodded, and he left, though Hermione detected a huge, rather goofy smile plastered on the young man's face.

She turned back to Tom and Conjured a quill and scarlet ink. Taking his picture over to the table, she wrote:

_Dear Tom_

_I will never in my whole life forget you or the wonderful_

_time we had together. I will miss you with all my heart_

_and I will never love another quite like you._

_I love you._

_Hermione_

Feeling the familiar burning sensation behind her cinnamon eyes, she shakily handed the picture back to him, as she saw the ink wavering on the moving picture. She looked at her own, and saw that he, too, had written a message:

_My lovely Hermione-_

_I just want you to know my promise. I swear…on my life_

_that I will never become evil. I don't think I could live with_

_myself if I hurt you that much. If I hurt your friends. But_

_even if for some inexplicable reason that I do…please end _

_my life without a second thought. I would rather have spent_

_one week in ecstasy with you than live out the rest of my _

_life without you._

_Yours Forever,_

_Tom Riddle_

Now Hermione was in sincere sobs as she once again flung herself upon him, crying into his shoulder. "You won't become evil, Tom. I know you won't."

* * *

**This isn't the last chapter, everyone, though I fear that the next one might be. I'll try to maybe write a sequel to this, but I don't know if I will. I hope I didn't make you guys cry? Though I did when I wrote this.**

**Thank you to all who have stuck with me this long time:**

**Hermionegranger2007, animerocksjapanrocks, Chou hime, Indaic, MandaPandaAR (**thank you soooo much, you make my days—love ya lots!**), san01, Kat (**have to give a big thanks to you, too**), Moonstone, Lauren, grounded angel, Mrs Pierre Bouvier (**thanks for sticking with me the whole time!**), a walk in the dark, Angelic Bladez (**you too—I owe you for reading every single chapter of this one!**), BlueEyed Fairy (**thanks a billion trillion sweetie!**), Frosty Princess Katie** love your penname, btw!**), and…**

**Mistic Elf **for being my first reviewer EVER!


	21. Chapter Twenty

Hermione couldn't face him for the last time. Not yet. As his face appeared in her mind, she really realized that this would be the last time she would see him. She hoped with all her heart that he would keep his promise. But would he? Would he really ignore the sway of evil? If—when—she went back, would he even remember her? Would their week in heaven actually mean _anything? _How much would have changed?

As her mind was swirling mercilessly with these questions, she didn't notice someone come up to her. "Hermione?" a deep, comforting voice asked.

She jumped in fright, but as she looked up, she was met with beautiful green eyes. She smiled pitifully as she looked into Antares's face…for the final time. "Oh, Andy." Hermione cried as she clambered up to hug him fiercely.

He staggered a few steps, but held her. "Hold on. What's wrong, Hermione?" he asked concernedly.

"Andy, I have to go back! I'm going back soon! I don't know how to say go—good—goodbye!" she whimpered.

Andy's face tightened into a look of sadness and disbelief. "Wh—What?" he asked harshly. "You're—You're going _back?"_

She pulled away from him. "I have to, Andy. I'm sorry, but I do. My whole life is in the future!"

"Wait. Going back where? What do you mean 'the future'?" he asked, confused.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh _no!" _she exclaimed, covering her face. "I haven't told you? Oh no…oh no…oh no…" she trailed.

"_Well this explains a lot." _He thought.

"Andy, maybe I'll meet you sometime in the future. Maybe. But I must go now. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before! Goodbye, Antares Black." Hermione said sadly.

Andy's expression was a myriad of feelings, but the one coming up to the surface was the one that said he would miss her. Not in a romantic way—he had gotten over that—but he would miss her as a friend. He wondered why she hadn't said that she was from the future before. He wondered how far in the future she was from. Well, he rationalized, she couldn't be from _that _far, because she had said that she might see him there. But now, his feelings changed. For the first time in his life, he actually felt bad for that stupid, infuriating Tom Riddle. For reasons he couldn't exactly explain. Just that Riddle had come to really like, perhaps even love, this girl that had come into their lives so quickly, then had to leave just as fast. Andy shook his head as if trying to viciously forget something. He felt bad for Tom Riddle. He never thought he'd see the day.

"Goodbye…Hermione Granger." He said to her, giving her another hug—a last hug.

Hermione gave one last, fleeting look at the man who would grow up to be Sirius's uncle. His black, messy hair; his bright and sparkling green eyes; his muscular but caring physique. How she would miss him. She dared herself not to start crying again, for she had had enough of it. Giving him a grim smile, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and ran off…to administer the hardest thing she had ever done.

She walked very slowly to the mouth of the corridor with her eyes closed, not wanting to do this. She honestly didn't think she could. She was about to turn right around when she suddenly remembered something Sirius and Lupin had said.

"_You really are the brightest witch of your age."_

Hermione was about to scoff at the remark, until she also remembered exactly what Harry had told her at Dumbledore's funeral, and she, almost regretfully, concluded that she needed to go back. His words rang through her head like church bells, and she could not get them out. She needed to do this, not just for her sake, but for Harry and Ron's also. Who else would be there to smack them upside the head when they didn't finish their Potions homework?

"_No matter what happens, Hermione, no matter what things may come, the three of us will always be together, won't we? The three of us—always and forever."_

Hermione turned the corner again into the same hallway, and walked over to the big window at the end of it, where a figure with dark hair and deep eyes was leaning against it, letting the gleaming sunlight wash over his form. Hermione's eyes held misery, but she smiled in spite of it all—for this wasn't _really _goodbye after all. She would always have memories. Walking more briskly, and finally breaking into a run, he looked up at the right second, and caught her as she entwined herself on his waist. He just held her, and as they looked into each other's eyes, they told each other exactly what they needed to: _I love you._

She slowly let herself down from him and looked up at his tall form, taking in the entire essence of him, fermenting the image into her mind forever. She gave him a long, meaningful kiss, her wand and the picture clutched tight in her hands. After what seemed like an eternity, they separated. Hermione noticed Tom had something in his hand. She cast her gaze towards it, and as he observed her staring, his face gained a pink tinge to it.

He brought his hand up to reveal a single, beautiful, scarlet rose. It was the most gorgeous and delightful flower she had ever seen, and she fondly remembered the bouquet he had given her when she had woken up. "This is for you. It's a magic rose—" he said firmly, his voice slightly strained. "—it will never die."

Her face softened even more as she stared down at it, then back up at his impassive face. "Thank you, Tom. Goodbye…I love you."

He made no motion except for his enrapturing eyes which told her he returned her ardor. Hermione reached in her robes without losing his gaze, and pulled out the vividly blue potion bottle. Swallowing it and, grimacing, she noticed it tasted like sweet honey; she noted the irony of it. Pointing her wand at herself, she muttered miserably, _"Tempuras Aperio."_

An invisible wind whipped around her, and her surroundings started to blur until the only thing that was anomalously clear was Tom's face. Seeing a solitary tear slide down his handsome face, Hermione mouthed the words, "Don't forget", and his face was gone.

Hermione was only in the ripple of time for less than a second, but it was enough time for one memory to pass through her—the three little words he spoke that changed her life forever.

She was spat out of the continuum carelessly, and she felt herself slam on the ground. Gingerly she got up, and was glad her wand did not get smashed in the contact. Then she noticed two other things grasped in her left hand. She shut her eyes—she couldn't bear to look at them. Looking around, she recognized with a face of astonishment the red and gold colors…the fire…the armchairs—the Gryffindor Common Room. Sinking down pleasurably into one of the chairs by the fire, she closed her eyes in relaxation, but she could not get a certain face out of her mind. She couldn't resist the temptation.

Setting her wand down, she gazed at the picture Andrew had taken of her and Tom. She smiled grimly at the image of the two of them—as happy as ever—kissing with more adventure than ever. Hermione watched further as the two miniature figures broke apart, grinning like fools. The picture that was Tom gave a smirk and as the small Hermione was waving, Tom picked her up, and Hermione gave him a playful smack on the arm, but kissed him again.

Hermione didn't notice she was crying until a tear fell on the picture. Horrified, she was about to brush it off, but, miraculously, it disappeared. Hermione was staring at the picture in question, but took a sharp intake of breath, for words in crimson ink were now forming on the picture, and the photographed Tom gave the astonished Hermione a wink and a warm smile. Hermione looked once again at the writing, and saw with amazement that it was Tom's. As she read it, she wiped her eyes:

_My darling Hermione,_

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_Don't cry_

_For I'm always with you_

She rolled her eyes at Tom's sad attempt at poetry, but the Tom in the photo gave her a shrug and went back to kissing Hermione's picture counterpart.

Hermione then moved on to the rose, which, like Tom said, had not wilted, even though she must have gone over 50 years in the future. As she was admiring it woefully, she heard footsteps coming from outside the portrait hole, and her eyes widened to proportions that even Dobby would be proud of. Still, she couldn't help but notice that the two voices were pleasantly familiar…

"—she never comes back?" a worried voice asked.

"Ron, think. She'll come back. We just have to be patient." A calmer, though exasperated-sounding response answered.

The portrait hole opened, revealing a violently red-haired, tall boy, accompanied by a slightly shorter, green-eyed one. They hadn't noticed her yet. Hermione threw the rose to the side, jumped up, and flung herself upon the shorter boy. He staggered in surprise, wondering who in the hell would be doing that.

"Oh, _Harry! _I missed you so much!" Hermione squealed joyfully.

"H—Her—Hermione?" Harry stuttered, astounded.

Hermione grinned widely, and shot an expectant glance at the redhead, but found his face was that of intense shock, and she knew he wouldn't be talking any time soon. Hermione let herself down from Harry's arms, blushing slightly, but smiling just the same. She couldn't believe they were still here! She had to find Tom. Would Harry know of Voldemort? Did Tom keep his promise? She needed to see Dumbledore. He would know. If he was still alive. But first…

"H—Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively. "Do you live with your aunt and uncle?"

Harry stared at her and raised an eyebrow. "Um…no, of course not. I'm going home for Christmas, though. You should come visit. Mom and Dad really want to meet you. Sirius'll be there too. Hermione, you have to come!" Harry said excitedly, his emerald eyes shining.

Hermione was about to faint from happiness. That meant Tom had kept his promise! Hermione hugged Harry in pure delight. "Harry, that's wonderful! Oh, of _course _I'll come visit you! I've always wanted to meet your parents! And Sirius! I'll get to see him again! You guys, I have _so _much to tell you!"

* * *

Months went by, and Christmas vacation was coming up in the next week. Teachers had cancelled exams, for so many students had protested, and, in any case, the adults were apprehensive as to exactly how many Skiving Snackboxes the Weasley twins had sold. From the more studious students, there were driving whines as to wondering why the exams weren't still going on. However, for the rest of the Hogwarts population, it was a cause for celebrations. Even McGonagall had to admit that the golden baubles floating around singing songs were quite charming and a welcome distraction.

Harry and Ron had been informed of Hermione's adventurous trip, although she had smartly left out the fact that she had had a whirlwind, sumptuous romance with the future Dark Lord. Well, not the Dark Lord anymore, as she had to constantly remind herself. Still, even through all the happiness of the lack of evil, Hermione had to admit that it would take more getting used to. Although, she was strangely pleased to see, that Harry still had his lightning bolt scar, except this time, he claimed it was the result of him running into an oddly shaped table when he was little while trying to reach a dormant Snitch from his father's last Quidditch Cup game. It looked the exact same, only this time, Hermione noted, there were no painful spasms indicating Voldemort's mood swings.

It was at this very moment, as Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing on Lily and James's doorstep, that Hermione truly realized her changed world. It would definitely take a lot of getting used to—not having to fight possessed teachers, ancient basilisks, evil diaries, Dark Lords' rebirths, watching an innocent young man die, enduring the pain of a lost godfather, or even dealing with Harry's occasional outbursts about how much he was frustrated with his life.

"Hermione? Are you coming?" Harry asked her, worry apparent in his entrancing eyes.

"What? Oh. Yes. Yes, I am." Hermione said decisively, giving a faint smile and following her two best friends.

"Mom! Dad! We're here!" Harry called into the warm and inviting house, and Hermione looked around, taking in the pleasant atmosphere.

Hearing two sets of footsteps coming from inside the house, Harry turned to his friends, smiling. A woman with dark, fiery red hair (enough to rival Ginny's) and startling green eyes came hurriedly into the entryway, giving Harry a big hug. After giving him a kiss on the cheek, she turned to Hermione, who almost started crying again at the sight of Harry's mom—alive and well.

"And you must be Hermione Granger! Harry, dear, she really is as beautiful as you told us!" Lily exclaimed. Hermione noticed that Lily had a soft, sweet voice, and her eyes positively glowed with warmth and friendliness.

"_Mom!" _Harry emphasized, blushing so lightly that it was almost unnoticeable.

Lily turned to Ron and greeted him, too, but Hermione's gaze turned to the fifth individual in the room. For a second, she thought there were two Harrys in the room, but she then took in the eyes—hazel. Everyone that had met Harry was right—the similarities between James and Harry were astounding. They had the same handsome face, the same unruly black hair, and the same body shape. The only difference—as people had a strange need to point out—were Harry's eyes, for they were almond-shaped and bright green. Not as green as Antares's, but shocking just the same.

"Son." James said proudly, disheveling Harry's hair even more. Hermione liked James's voice also. It was a deep, rich tone that almost mimicked Tom's, except there was a joking, mischievous essence to it.

"Dad, where's Sirius?" Harry asked.

"Him? Your _godfather _had to go Apparate Bellatrix again—she finally passed her test, but she still hasn't gotten the apt for it yet. Such a sweet girl, but very forgetful sometimes." Lily answered, shooting a glare at James.

"Don't look at me, Lils!" James said defensively.

Hermione's blood ran cold, and she stared between the four of them in shock. Bellatrix? _The _Bellatrix? Was this some sort of cruel joke? She looked at each of them in turn, and saw to her amazement, that no one was concerned. "Hermione, dear? Are you alright?" Lily asked, looking worriedly at Hermione.

"Yes, of course. I'm just perfect." Hermione said sarcastically.

There was silence between everyone for a few seconds, but suddenly there was a loud _crack! _and two figures appeared in the adjacent room. "PRONGSIE!" a playful voice called. "EVANS!"

Lily gave an exasperated glower at James, who gave an apologetic look back. "Sirius Antares Black, must you be so obnoxious?" Lily scolded, though a youthful spark gleamed in her eyes.

Hermione gave a smile at the name, remembering fondly of Andy. "Sorry, Lils. Old habits die hard, you know." Sirius shrugged, just entering the room.

He had the same flickering dark blue eyes, and an unsettled mess of black hair which fell attractively over his face. His face was filled out now, no longer the gaunt, pale, skeletal look from years in Azkaban. As Sirius came over to greet Harry wildly, Hermione now took notice to the timid woman behind him. She had dark brown hair which fell to her waist in hardly noticeable curls, and her eyes were heavily lined, however, it suited her soft face more. Hermione also couldn't help but observe the fantastically-green eyes she sported, and she was glad to see that at least she had inherited Andy's good looks.

"Bella, sweetie! This is Harry's friend, Hermione, and this here is Ron. They're both in Gryffindor also. How are you?" Lily said expressively, leading Bellatrix over to Hermione and Ron.

Ron had a sort of dazed look on his face, and Hermione had to snicker at his inability to hold in his obvious attraction. She elbowed him promptly, and he blinked as he gave Bellatrix a subtle nod. Bella turned to Hermione giving her a friendly smile, as she held out her hand for Hermione to shake. Hermione took it, and relaxed a little as she had to come to terms with the fact that maybe—just maybe—Bellatrix wasn't evil after all. Sirius _did _say that his parents and family only thought that Voldemort had the right ideas and then followed him.

"Hello, Hermione…Ron. And my favorite nephew! So you're in Gryffindor also? Are those wretched curtains still there? They never shut properly when I was there." Bellatrix said.

Bellatrix had the same tone of voice as Lily, with just small differences. It had a slight unidentifiable ring to it, and sounded remarkably like the female version of Andy's. Hermione was intrigued by this. Especially the fact that Bellatrix was in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. This changed things.

"Oh. Um, yeah, they're still there. Stupid things don't work." Hermione recovered.

Sirius cut into the conversation again, and Hermione wondered if he could ever say anything without having a joking tone about it. "Hey Prongs, is Moony coming?"

"Sirius." Lily warned.

Sirius just ignored her. "I think so. Wormtail—" James was interrupted by a swift smack on the arm by his wife.

"That's enough you two! We are not in school anymore! You can use their real names, you know! James, why can't you contain yourself around Sirius? I don't even know why I married you, Potter." Lily said scathingly.

"Because I'm so damn irresistible, Evans." James replied invitingly.

Lily blushed, but she hit him again, and James put on mock hurt. "Not in front of the children, James! And _must _you call me Evans? It's enough you had to do that for seven years!"

Harry, Ron and even Hermione snickered at the bickering couple. Even though they were arguing, everyone could tell that they were so in love with each other. "Wow, could you guys get any more revolting? It's enough to make anyone sick." Sirius injected, and everyone gave a small laugh.

"Anyway," James continued, "Peter is away somewhere. Probably in with the other rats. He was always a little annoying."

It looked like Lily was about to defend him, but Hermione caught Bellatrix giving her a warning look as if to say 'Don't try, Lily. Boys will be boys'. Lily rolled her eyes, but agreed. "Now, you three, help me get everything ready. Oh, Harry, you look atrocious! What did I tell you about playing Quidditch? Must you get so appalling? I swear, you are just like your father!"

Harry smiled, but went upstairs as Hermione and Ron went to go help, Hermione still hardly able to believe that she was in the company of three people that were supposed to be dead, and one that was supposed to be a murderer.

* * *

"This is wonderful, Lils. I might need to come over more often if you keep cooking like this." Lupin said, leaning back.

"Why, thank you, Remus." Lily responded, a faint tinge coming up into her pale cheeks. She glared at Sirius and James who were deeply engaged in a conversation about Quidditch, oddly similar to what Harry and Ron were doing.

"Yeah, it's really great, Mrs. Potter." Hermione said politely, wanting to get a single word into _someone's _conversation, for everyone had been too preoccupied to pay attention to her.

Lily looked horrified. "Oh my goodness, child, we've been ignoring you! Oh for heaven's sake, Harry, are you always like this?" she said, astounded, and smacking her son lightly on the head.

He stopped his rapid talking with Ron to look at his mother, whose eyes were gleaming with frustration. "What was that for?"

"Mrs. Potter, really, it's not a big deal." Hermione said ashamedly, her face reddening.

"Please. Call me Lily. 'Mrs. Potter' is so formal! Now, Harry, I want you to go and talk to Hermione! Quidditch can wait, mister."

"_Mom." _Harry said, with an irked look in his eyes.

"Harry James Potter, you will do as you're told." Lily commanded sternly. "James, tell your son."

"What? Oh, yes, dear. Harry, do what she says. Did you ever figure out what that Snitch was made out of, Padfoot?"

"Oh you two are impossible!"

Hermione looked down at her plate, tuning out the bantering between the various people, catching only a few words, most of them about Quidditch, but the occasional shouting from Lily of either Harry, James, or Sirius. But despite the happy conditions, Hermione could not help but feel empty. There was one thing she was missing. The hole in her heart could only be satisfied by one thing. Or, one person rather. Hermione must have looked very forlorn, for the person next to her leaned over.

"Honey, if he loves you, he'll come back."

Hermione's head whipped up, and she came to face Bellatrix, who wore a sympathetic look on her young face. Hermione was grateful that no one else around the table had noticed her sadness, although Lupin shot Bellatrix and Hermione one glance for a second before returning to a heated discussion.

"Wh—What are you—I don't know what you're talking—how do you know?" Hermione stuttered, finally surrendering at the smirk playing on Bellatrix's lips. Regardless of the fact that Hermione should be revolted at even seeing Bellatrix, she had to confess that Bellatrix was very persuasive and actually quite charming.

"Sweetie, I'd know that look anywhere. Don't worry one bit. Don't give up on him." Bella said, and Hermione had to agree.

"Thanks. Mrs. Potter—Lily—I'll be right back. I just need some air." Hermione announced, getting up.

"Oh, okay, dear." Lily acceded. "Hurry back."

Hermione smiled pitifully as she headed out to the garden. Her hands shaking, she sat down on the cold stone bench outside, the frosty night air swirling all around her. She closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply, the crispness of the sky filling her with a dark but piercing chill. Without warning, Hermione's shut eyes were covered with curiously warm hands. Starting to get frightened, and wondering why she didn't stay inside, Hermione felt her captor lean down to whisper in her ear.

"Guess who."

He lifted his hands away, and she turned around to see the most dark and soulful eyes of none other than Tom Riddle. "TOM!" Hermione squeaked, throwing her arms around him with surprising agility, given her position.

She wrapped herself around his waist again, and gave him a deep and loving kiss, wanting to fill herself with his warmth and to feel his touch again. She pulled away to look at him, and shockingly found that he looked not a day older than seventeen. She wondered how this happened. Did he follow her into the future? It couldn't be Dark magic, because he had kept his promise.

"Tom," Hermione began incredulously, "how did you—"

He pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. "Hey, it was nothing like that. I kept my word, Hermione. But, you see, I couldn't live with myself without you. The moment you left, I felt like a part of me had been ripped out and shattered. I couldn't go the rest of my life without knowing you. Without having you with me. I searched and searched and finally I found a solution. It had to have been maybe two or three days after you left and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see you again. I found a book in the Restricted Section on time travel, and I was just about to throw it on the ground in frustration, when I noticed a chapter called _"Desiderium Posterus Vicis". _Essentially it means 'I need the future'. It was an insanely complicated potion, requiring the rarest of ingredients, and some manipulative cunning from me to get all the parts necessary for it. When I was sure it was right, I swallowed it—tasted horrible, by the way—pointed my wand at myself, and, well, here I am. And even though it took me hours upon hours to complete it, I know that now it was all worth it." He confessed, his eyes sparkling emotionally in the moonlight.

"B—But h-how did you know that I was here?" Hermione asked, still trying to recover from him being here.

Tom laughed quietly. "You've got to be more careful in the information you give out, Granger. You see, all the spell-caster has to do—well, along with the incantation and potion—is focus on the most complete information you can about the time you want to go to. So, what _I _did was think about your name, Hermione Granger, your age and magical ability, and your friend over there, Mr. Harry James Potter. And, voilà, it transported me here. Though it wasn't a very generous landing. I must have re-sprained my wrist upon doing it. But I would gladly break it, if it meant finding you again."

Hermione was silent for a few moments, all of the new proclamations spinning wordlessly fast inside her already aching brain. She closed her eyes for a second before speaking. "Tom, I—I don't really know w-what to s-say." She stumbled.

His voice dropped and he stepped forward. "Don't say anything."

He pulled her in for another kiss, but before they could get too far, they heard a set of footsteps coming towards them and a voice. "Hermione? Where did you—oh. Oh—um—well—just, just continue—didn't mean to—well, I'll be leaving now." Harry staggered, all the while backing up until he reached the door and finally turning away.

Hermione and Tom both laughed in embarrassment, but Hermione was still pondering Tom's miraculous appearance. She took his hand, and the laughter had not quite died from his eyes as he looked down at her. "Tom, how am I supposed to explain all of this?"

To Hermione's surprise, Tom got a devilish look on his face, and his impish grin got wider. "Who says we have to explain anything?"

She regained her bossy, commanding persona. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, don't you realize how _odd _it will be if I had come out here by myself and march back in with this charismatic and handsome yet wicked guy by my side?"

"You think I'm handsome?" he asked playfully.

She hit him lightly on the arm. "Don't avoid the question!"

His smirk didn't falter, and in fact, it would appear as though Hermione had never asked the question in the first place. "I'm sure they'd understand, Hermione. I mean, come on, Potter's mom looks nice and his dad is like a mirror image of him, and as for the other three, the girl knows anyway, the sandy-haired guy seems kind of quiet but accepting, and the other black-haired man seems like he would be indifferent to anything. As for the redhead, he might have a problem, because he's been ogling you the whole time, and as for Harry, I'm not worried. He's pretty awesome." Tom answered confidently.

Hermione stared at him, aghast. "How do you know all of that when you just came here not that long ago?"

"I'm very observant, Miss Granger."

"Observant in _everything?" _she asked mischievously.

His eyebrows rose a miniscule fraction of an inch, and his eyes flickered. "I'm surprised. Granger has a dark side."

Hermione made her face up into one of concentration, and she seemed to be having an argument with herself. After a couple seconds, she decided. "Oh, just come on, you."

He smiled—a real smile—as he let her lead him in. Immediately, they were met with at first bustling commotion, but then pure silence except for Ron's continued eating as though nothing happened. Bellatrix had an approving smirk on her face as she pretended to be checking Tom out; Lily looked slightly astonished, but whether it was the appearance of Tom or Hermione's foolish grin, she didn't know; James and Harry both had a face of all-knowingness, and Hermione supposed Harry had told him what happened. Lastly, Sirius was as Tom suspected—his face was impassive, and the only indicators that he noticed anything were his dark blue eyes shimmering with impressiveness.

Lily spoke first. "Well, it appears we have another guest, now doesn't it?" she asked rhetorically. "Let me just get you a chair, young man."

She Conjured one, and extended the table slightly, placing it next to Hermione. While she said nothing, Hermione detected a faint smile on her lips as she busied herself. "Thanks. Mrs. Potter, is it?" Tom said politely.

Lily blushed again. "Oh, hush. Call me Lily."

Hermione flushed as she remembered she hadn't introduced him. She laughed nervously. "This is Tom, everyone. Tom Riddle. My b—boy—boyfriend." She smiled foolishly.

Tom smirked again, as he led her to sit down. Hermione followed, but as she took her seat and Tom was talking to Lily about what to eat, Bellatrix motioned Hermione. "See, I told you, honey. Not a bad choice, either." She said, perusing him with her eyes playfully.

Hermione noticed, but caught on to her jesting. "Oh, back off." She said. "He's mine."

Everyone grinned as Hermione grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him into a deep kiss. She didn't even care that everyone was watching. It was an entwined love, she knew, but Tom Riddle was hers…and hers forever.

_-The End-_

_A special thanks to BlueEyedFairy for helping me out of a bind with this one. You're awesome, Nikkie!

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**I know, I'm sad it's done, too. I might create a sequel someday, but it all depends on if I have time or not. What do you think of this though? I desperately wanted to bring Lily, James, and Sirius back, so I did, and I like Bellatrix's character even if she's an evil b—you know what. Sorry if the whole time travel didn't make sense, but I tried to make it comprehensible.

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**Billions and gadzillions of thanks to my faithful reviewers:**

_BlueEyedFairy: I owe you so much for you have been with me through everything, and this chapter is dedicated to you, because you helped me figure things out! Love you lots!_

_Indaic: Thanks._

_a walk in the dark: thanks, but don't cry! It turned out happy!_

_Angelic Bladez: You too, thanks a bunch for being with me always. You're awesome._

_hermionegranger2007: thank you, and you're stories are fantastic!_

_Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Thank you, and it's not a bad way to start of the New Year. I don't even have a resolution! Thanks for sticking with me, though._

_stranger: thanks, and I'm thinking about it._

_san01: well, Hermione did go back, but she and tom are together, so does that accredit me in your eyes? I hope so. xoxo!_

_Moonstone: Thanks, and I really feel special that I almost made you cry if it's hard for you too! Did that come out right? Thanks anyway, lol._

_animerocksjapanrocks: thank you!_

_Frosty Princess Katie: I might make a sequel, but I'm not sure. Thanks a lot!_

_Chou hime: Well, you found out what it was like when she got back! Thanks!_

_Lumoscaitlin: don't freak out! Lol, thank you._

_MandaPandaAR: omg, you are the best. Thanks for everything and talking to me and stuff and for all your inputs. Thank you!_

_Purplebubble: Yeah, I didn't want Tom to be 50 years old either—ick. Lol. So I hope this chapter was okay? Thank you a bunch for reading this and for being such a positive reviewer!

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**Wow. Lots of people. And to all of you with alerts or who have at least viewed this, I give a shoutout to you too! LOVE YOU ALL!**


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